D 


CU    CJ3 


1ST 
& 


ISf 


I 


BETTY    ZANE 


CONFUSED   AND   YEXED,  BETTY   SANK.   AT   THE   FOOT   OF 

THE      TREE,  Fr0nti*jitc<  (P«g*  M- 


BETTY  ZANE 


BY 

ZANE  GREY 

AUTHOB  OP 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT. 
RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE,  DESERT  GOLD.  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

LOUIS  F.  GRANT 


NEW     YORK 

GROSSET   &   DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Made  ia  the  United  State*  «f  America 


COPYRIGHT  1903 
•  HARLBB  FRAN  CIS  PRESS 

Ail  rights  reserved 


2512: 

KM* 


TO  THE  BETTY  ZANE  CHAPTER  OP 
THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  THE  REV 
OLUTION  THIS  BOOK  IS  RESPECT 
FULLY  DEDICATED  BY  THE  AUTHOR 


NOTE 

a  quiet  corner  of  the  stately  little  city  of  Wheel 

ing,  West  Va.,  stands  a  monument  on  which  il 

inscribed : 

"By  authority  of  the  State  of  West  Virginia. 

to  commemorate  the  siege  of  Fort  Henry,  Sept, 

II,  1782,  the  last  battle  of  the  American  Revolt 

tion,  this  tablet  is  here  placed." 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  heroism  of  a  girl  the 

foregoing  inscription  would  never  have  been 
written,  and  the  city  of  Wheeling  would  never  have  existed. 
From  time  to  time  I  have  read  short  stories  and  magazine 
articles  which  have  been  published  about  Elizabeth  Zane  and 
her  famous  exploit;  but  they  are  unreliable  in  some  particu 
lars,  which  is  owing,  no  doubt,  to  the  singularly  meagre  details 
available  in  histories  of  our  western  border. 

For  a  hundred  years  the  stories  of  Betty  and  Isaac  Zane 
have  been  familiar,  oft-repeated  tales  in  my  family — tales 
told  with  that  pardonable  ancestral  pride  which  seems  inherent 
in  every  one.  My  grandmother  loved  to  cluster  the  children 
round  her  and  tell  them  that  when  she  was  a  Jittle  girl  she 
had  knelt  at  the  feet  of  Betty  Zane,  and  listened  to  the  old 
lady  as  she  told  of  her  brother's  capture  by  the  Indian  Prin 
cess,  of  the  burning  of  the  Fort,  and  of  her  own  race  for  life. 
I  knew  these  stories  by  heart  when  a  child. 

Two  years  ago  my  mother  came  to  me  with  an  old  note 
book  which  had  been  discovered  in  some  rubbish  that  had 
been  placed  in  the  yard  to  burn.  The  book  had  probably 
been  hidden  in  an  old  picture  frame  for  many  years.  R 
had  belonged  to  my  great-grandfather,  Col.  Ebenezef 


triii  Note 

Kane*  From  its  faded  and  time-worn  pages  I  have  taken  the 
main  facts  of  my  story.  My  regret  is  that  a  worthier  pen 
than  mine  has  not  had  this  wealth  of  material. 

In  this  busy  progressive  age  there  are  no  heroes  of  the 
kind  so  dear  to  all  lovers  of  chivalry  and  romance.  There 
are  heroes,  perhaps,  but  they  are  the  patient  sad-faced  kind. 
of  whom  few  take  cognizance  as  they  hurry  onward.  But 
cannot  we  all  remember  some  one  who  suffered  greatly,  who 
accomplished  great  deeds,  who  died  on  the  battlefield — some 
one  around  whose  name  lingers  a  halo  of  glory?  Few  of  us 
are  so  unfortunate  that  we  cannot  look  backward  on  kith  or 
kin  and  thrill  with  love  and  reverence  as  we  dream  of  an  act 
of  heroism  or  martyrdom  which  rings  down  the  annals  of  time 
like  the  melody  of  the  huntsman's  horn,  as  it  peals  out  on  a 
frosty  October  morn  purer  and  sweeter  with  each  succeeding 
note. 

If  to  any  of  those  who  have  such  remembrances*  as  well 
as  those  who  have  not,  my  story  gives  an  houi  of  pleasure 
I  shall  be  rewarded 


PROLOGUE 

N  June  16,  1716,  Alexander  Spotswood,  Gov 
ernor  of  the  Colony  of  Virginia,  and  a  gal 
lant  soldier  who  had  served  under  Marl- 
borough  in  the  English  wars,  rode,  at  the 
head  of  a  dauntless  band  of  cavaliers,  down 
the  quiet  street  of  quaint  old  Williamsburg. 
The  adventurous  spirits  of  this  party 
of  men  urged  them  toward  the  land  of 
the  setting  sun,  that  unknown  west  far 
beyond  the  blue  crested  mountains  ris 
ing  so  grandly  before  them. 

Months  afterward  they  stood  on  the  western  range  of  the 
Great  North  mountains  towering  above  the  picturesque  Shen- 
andoah  Valley,  and  from  the  summit  of  one  of  the  loftiest 
peaks,  where,  until  then,  the  foot  of  a  white  man  had  never 
trod,  they  viewed  the  vast  expanse  of  plain  and  forest  with 
glistening  eyes.  Returning  to  Williamsburg  they  told  of  the 
wonderful  richness  of  the  newly  discovered  country  and  thus 
opened  the  way  for  the  venturesome  pioneer  who  was  destined 
to  overcome  all  difficulties  and  make  a  home  in  the  western 
world. 

But  fifty  years  and  more  passed  before  a  white  man  pene 
trated  far  beyond  the  purple  spires  of  those  majestic  moun 
tains. 

One  bright  morning  in  June,  1769,  the  figure  of  a  stal 
wart,  broad  shouldered  man  could  have  been  seen  standing  on 
the  wild  and  rugged  promontory  which  rears  its  rocky  bluff 
high  above  the  Ohio  river,  at  a  point  near  the  mouth  of  Wheel 
ing  Creek.  He  was  alone  save  for  the  companionship  of  a 
deerhound  that-  crouched  at  his  feet.  As  he  leaned  on  a  long 
rifle,  contemplating  the  glorious  scene  that  stretched  before 
him,  a  smile  flashed  across  his  bronzed  cheek,  and  his  heart 
bounded  as  he  forecast  the  future  of  that  spot.  In  the  river 
below  him  lay  an  island  so  round  and  green  that  it  resembled 
I* 


JK  Prologue 

a  huge  lily  pad  floating  placidly  on  the  water.  The  fresh 
green  foliage  of  the  trees  sparkled  with  glittering  dewdrops. 
Back  of  him  rose  the  high  ridges,  and,  In  front,  as  far  aa 
eye  could  reach,  extended  an  unbroken  forest. 

Beneath  him  to  the  left  and  across  a  deep  ravine  he  saw 
a  wide  level  clearing.  The  few  scattered  and  blackened  tree 
stumps  showed  the  ravages  made  by  a  forest  fire  in  the  years 
gone  by.  The  field  was  now  overgrown  with  hazel  and  laurel 
bushes,  and  intermingling  with  them  were  the  trailing  arbutus, 
the  honeysuckle,  and  the  wild  rose.  A  fragrant  perfume  was 
wafted  upward  to  him.  A  rushing  creek  bordered  one  edge 
of  the  clearing.  After  a  long  quiet  reach  of  water,  which 
could  be  seen  winding  back  in  the  hills,  the  stream  tumbled 
madly  over  a  rocky  ledge,  and  white  with  foam,  it  hurried 
onward  as  if  impatient  of  long  restraint,  and  lost  its  indivi 
duality  in  the  broad  Ohio. 

This  solitary  hunter  was  Colonel  Ebenezer  Zane.  He  was 
one  of  those  daring  men,  who,  as  the  tide  of  emigration 
started  westward,  had  left  his  friends  and  family  and  had 
struck  out  alone  into  the  wilderness.  Departing  from  his 
home  in  Eastern  Virginia  he  had  plunged  into  the  woods,  and 
after  many  days  of  hunting  and  exploring,  he  reached  the 
then  far  Western  Ohio  valley. 

The  scene  so  impressed  Colonel  Zane  that  he  concluded  to 
found  a  settlement  there.  Taking  "tomahawk  possession"  of 
the  locality  (which  consisted  of  blazing  a  few  trees  with  his 
tomahawk),  he  built  himself  a  rude  shack  and  remained  that 
summer  on  the  Ohio. 

In  the  autumn  he  set  out  for  Berkeley  County,  Virginia* 
to  tell  his  people  of  the  magnificent  country  he  had  discovered. 
The  following  spring  he  persuaded  a  number  of  settlers,  of 
a  like  spirit  with  himself,  to  accompany  him  to  the  wilderness. 
Believing  it  unsafe  to  take  their  families  with  them  at  once, 
they  left  them  at  Red  Stone  on  the  Monongahela  river,  while 
the  men,  including  Colonel  Zane,  his  brothers  Silas,  Andrew, 
Jonathan  and  Isaac,  the  Wetzels,  McCollochs,  Bennets,  Met- 
zars  and  others,  pushed  on  ahead. 

The  country  through  which  they  passed  was  one  tangled, 


Prblogue  xi 

almost  impenetrable  forest;  the  axe  of  the  pioneer  had  never 
sounded  in  this  region,  where  every  rod  of  the  way  might 
harbor  some  unknown  danger. 

These  reckless  bordermen  knew  not  the  meaning  of  fear; 
to  all,  daring  adventure  was  welcome,  and  the  screech  of  a  red 
skin  and  the  ping  of  a  bullet  were  familiar  sounds;  to  the 
Wetzels,  McCollochs  and  Jonathan  Zane  the  hunting  of  In 
dians  was  the  most  thrilling  passion  of  their  lives ;  indeed,  the 
Wetzels,  particularly,  knew  no  other  occupation.  They  had 
attained  a  wonderful  skill  with  the  rifle;  long  practice  had 
rendered  their  senses  as  acute  as  those  of  the  fox.  Skilled 
in  every  variety  of  woodcraft,  with  lynx  eyes  ever  on  the 
alert  for  detecting  a  trail,  or  the  curling  smoke  of  some  camp 
fire,  or  the  minutest  sign  of  an  enemy,  these  men  stole  onward 
through  the  forest  with  the  cautious  but  dogged  and  persis 
tent  determination  that  was  characteristic  of  the  settler. 

They  at  length  climbed  the  commanding  bluff  overlooking 
the  majestic  river,  and  as  they  gazed  out  on  the  undulating 
and  uninterrupted  area  of  green,  their  hearts  beat  high  with 
hope. 

The  keen  axe,  wielded  by  strong  arms,  soon  opened  the 
clearing  arid  reared  stout  log  cabins  on  the  river  bluff.  Then 
Ebenezer  Zane  and  his  followers  moved  their  families  and  soon 
the  settlement  began  to  grow  and  flourish.  As  the  little  vil 
lage  commenced  to  prosper  the  redmen  became  troublesome. 
Settlers  were  shot  while  plowing  the  fields  or  gathering  the 
harvests.  Bands  of  hostile  Indians  prowled  around  and  made 
it  dangerous  for  anyone  to  leave  the  clearing.  Frequently 
the  first  person  to  appear  in  the  early  morning  would  be  shot 
at  by  an  Indian  concealed  in  the  woods. 

General  George  Rodgers  Clark,  commandant  of  the  West 
ern  Military  Department,  arrived  at  the  village  in  1774.  As 
an  attack  from  the  savages  was  apprehended  during  the  year 
the  settlers  determined  to  erect  a  fort  as  a  defense  for  the 
infant  settlement.  It  was  planned  by  General  Clark  and 
built  by  the  people  themselves.  At  first  they  called  it  Fort 
Fincastle,  in  honor  of  Lord  Dunmore,  who,  at  the  time  of  its 
erection,  was  Governor  of  the  Colony  of  Virginia.  In  1776 


Prologue 

its  name  was  changed  to  Fort  Henry,  in  honor  of  Patrick 
Henry. 

For  many  years  it  remained  the  most  famous  fort  on  the 
frontier,  having  withstood  numberless  Indian  attacks  and  two 
memorable  sieges,  one  in  1777,  which  year  is  called  the  }Tear 
of  the  "Bloody  Sevens,"  and  again  in  1782.  In  this  last  siege 
the  British  Rangers  under  Hamilton  took  part  with  the  In 
dians,  making  the  attack  practically  the  last  battle  of  the 
Revolution. 


CHAPTER  L 


HE  Zane  family  was  a  remarkable 
one  in  early  days,  and  most  of  its 
members  are  historical  characters. 
The  first  Zane  of  whom  any 
trace  can  be  found  was  a  Dane  of 
aristocratic  lineage,  who  was  ex 
iled  from  his  country  and  came 
to  America  with  William  Penn. 
He  was  prominent  for  several 
years  in  the  new  settlement 
founded  by  Penn,  and  Zane 
street,  Philadelphia,  beara  his  name.  Being  a  proud  and  arro 
gant  man,  he  soon  became  obnoxious  to  his  Quaker  brethren. 
He  therefore  cut  loose  from  them  and  emigrated  to  Virginia, 
settling  on  the  Potomac  river,  in  what  was  then  known  as 
Berkeley  county.  There  his  five  sons,  and  one  daughter,  the 
heroine  of  this  story,  were  born. 

Ebenezer  Zane,  the  eldest,  was  born  October  75  1747,  and 
grew  to  manhood  in  the  Potomac  valley.  There  he  married 
Elizabeth  McColloch,  a  sister  of  the  famous  McColloch 
brothers  so  well  known  in  frontier  history. 

Ebenezer  was  fortunate  in  having  such  a  wife  and  no 
pioneer  could  have  been  better  blessed.  She  was  not  only  a 
handsome  woman,  but  one  of  remarkable  force  of  character 
as  well  as  kindness  of  heart.  She  was  particularly  noted  for 
a  rare  skill  in  the  treatment  of  illness,  and  her  deftness  in 
handling  the  surgeon's  knife  and  extracting  a  poisoned  bullet 
or  arrow  from  a  wound  had  restored  to  health  many  a  settler 
when  all  had  despaired. 

The  Zane  brothers  were  best  known  on  the  border  for  their 
athletic  prowess,  and  for  their  knowledge  of  Indian  warfare 
and  cunning.  They  were  all  powerful  men,  exceedingly  act 
ive  and  as  fleet  as  deer.  In  appearance  they  were  singularly 
pleasing  and  bore  a  marked  resemblance  to  one  another,  all 


16  Betty    Zane 

having  smooth  faces,  clear  cut,  regular  features,  dark  eyes 
and  long  black  hair. 

When  they  were  as  yet  boys  they  had  been  captured  b)r 
Indians,  soon  after  their  arrival  on  the  Virginia  border,  ariti 
had  been  taken  far  into  the  interior,  and  held  as  captives  fe^ 
two  years.  Ebenezer,  Silas,  and  Jonathan  Zane  were  the'i 
taken  to  Detroit  and  ransomed.  While  attempting  to  swLa 
the  Scioto  river  in  an  effort  to  escape,  Andrew  Zane  had  bee'n 
shot  and  killed  by  his  pursuers. 

But  the  bonds  that  held  Isaac  Zane,  the  remaining  and 
youngest  brother,  were  stronger  than  those   of  interest    *>r 
revenge  such  as  had  caused  the  captivity  of  his  brothers.    • .  'e 
was  loved  by  an  Indian  princess,  the  daughter  of  Tarhe,  tl 
chief  of  the  puissant  Huron  race.     Isaac  had  escaped 
various  occasions,  but  had  always  been  retaken,  and  at 
time  of  the  opening  of  our  story  nothing  had  been  heard 
him  for  several  years,  and  it  was  believed  he  had  been  killed 

A'   the  period  of  the  settling  of  the  little  colony  ii. 
wilderness,  Elizabeth  Zane,  the  only  sister,  was  living 
an  aunt  in  Philadelphia,  where  she  was  being  educated. 

Colonel  Zane's  house,  a  two  story  structure  built  of  rou 
hewn  logs,  was  the  most  comfortable  one  in  the  settlement,  * 
occupied  a  prominent  site  on  the  hillside  about  one  hundi 
yards  from  the  fort.     It  was  constructed  of  heavy  timber 
presented   rather  a   forbidding  appearance  with  its     -q 
corners,  its  ominous  looking  portholes,  and  strongly 
doors  and  windows.     There  were  three  rooms  on  the  f 
floor,  a  kitchen,  a  magazine  room  for  military  supplies, 
large  room  for  general  use.     The  several  sleeping  room? 
on  the  second  floor,  which  was  reached  by  a  steep  stairwa 

The  interior  of  a  pioneer's  rude  dwelling  did  not  reveai,  as 
a  rule,  more  than  bare  walls,  a  bed  or  two,  a  table  and  a  few 
chairs — in  fact,  no  more  than  the  necessities  of  life.     But 
Colonel  Zane's  house  proved  an  exception  to  this.     Most  in 
teresting  was  the  large  room.     The  chinks  between  the  lo  ^ 
had  been  plastered  up  with  clay  and  then  the  walls  covr 
with  white  birch  bark;  trophies  of  the  chase,  Indian  bows  r 
arrows,  pipes  and  tomahawks    hung  upon   them;   the    *ide 


Betty    Zane 

spreading  antlers  of  a  noble  buck  adorned  the  space  above 
the  mantel  piece;  buffalo  robes  covered  the  couches;  bearskin 
nigs  lay  scattered  about  on  the  hardwood  floor.  The  wall 
on  the  western  side  had  been  built  over  a  huge  stone,  into 
vhich  Jiad  been  cut  an  open  fireplace. 

i    This  blackened  recess,  which  had  seen  two  houses  burned 
over  it,  when  full  of  blazing  logs  had  cheered  many  noted 
men  with  its  warmth.     Lord  Dunmore,  General  Clark,  Simon 
Kenton,  and  Daniel  Boone  had  sat  beside  that  fire.     There 
Cornplanter,  the  Seneca  chief,  had  made  his  famous  deal  with 
-Colonel  Zane,  trading  the  island  in  the  river  opposite  the 
£|ttlement  for  a  barrel  of  whiskey.     Logan,  the  Mingo  chief 
•tfjnd  friend  of  the  whites,  had  smoked  many  pipes  of  peace 
\  TC  with  Colonel  Zane.     At  a  later  period,  when  King  Louis 
ilippe,  who  had  been  exiled  from  France  by  Napoleon,  had 
•me  to  America,  during  the  course  of  his  melancholy  wander- 
he  had  stopped  at  Fort  Henry  a  few  days.     His  stay 
'e  was  marked  by  a  fierce  blizzard  and  the  royal  guesl 
?d  most  of  his  time  at  Colonel  Zane's  fireside.     Musing 
those  roaring  logs  perhaps  he  saw  the  radiant  star  of  the 
in  of  Destiny  rise  to  its  magnificent  zenith. 
brrxOne  cold,  raw  night  in  early  spring  the  Colonel  had  just 
-turned  from  one  of  his  hunting  trips  and  the  tramping  of 
cs  mingled  with  the  rough  voices  of    the    ner?o    slaves 
;i<jed  without.     When  Colonel  Zane  entered  the  house  he 
freeted  affectionately  by  his  wife  and  sister.     The  latter, 
e  death  of  her  aunt  in  Philadelphia,  had  come  west  to 
MJB?  ith  her  brother,  and  had  been  there  since  late  in  the  pre- 
jg  autumn.     It  was  a  welcome  sight  for  the  eyes  of  a 
i  and  weary  hunter.     The  tender  kiss  of  his  comely  wife, 
t  ue  cries  of  the  delighted  children,  and  the  crackling  of  the 
fire  warmed  his  heart  and  made  him  feel  how  good  it  was  to 
be  home  again  after  a  three  days'  march  in  the  woods.     Plac 
ing  his  rifle  in  a  corner  and  throwing  aside  his  wet  hunting 
-<y>at,  he  turned  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  bright  blaze. 
:31  young  and  vigorous,  Colonel  Zane  was  a  handsome  man. 
1,  though  not  heavy,  his  frame  denoted  great  strength  and 
endurance.     His  face  was  smooth;  Lis  heavy  eyebrows  met 


18  Betty    Zane 

in  a  straight  line;  his  eyes  were  dark  and  now  beamed  with 
a  kindly  light;  his  jaw  was  square  and  massive;  his  mouth 
resolute;  in  fact,  his  whole  face  was  strikingly  expressive  of 
courage  and  geniality.  A  great  wolf  dog  had  followed  him 
in  and,  tired  from  travel,  had  stretched  himself  out  before 
the  fireplace,  laying  his  noble  head  on  the  paws  he  had  ex 
tended  toward  the  warm  blaze. 

"Well!  Well!  I  am  nearly  star/3d  and  mighty  glad  to  get 
back,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  smile  otf  satisfaction  at  the 
steaming  dishes  a  negro  servant  was  bringing  from  the 
kitchen. 

"We  are  glad  you  have  returned,"  answered  his  wife,  whose 
glowing  face  testified  to  the  pleasure  she  felt.  "Supper  is 
ready — Annie,  biing  in  some  cream — yes,  indeed,  I  am  happy 
that  you  are  home.  I  never  have  a  moment's  peace  when  you 
are  away,  especially  when  you  are  accompanied  by  Lewis 
Wetzel." 

"Our  hunt  was  a  failure,"  said  the  Colonel,  after  he  had 
helped  himself  to  a  plate  full  of  roast  wild  turkey.  "The 
bears  have  just  come  out  of  their  winter's  sleep  and  are  un 
usually  wary  at  this  time.  We  saw  many  signs  of  their  work, 
tearing  rotten  logs  to  pieces  in  search  of  grubs  and  bees'  nests. 
Wetzel  killed  a  deer  and  we  baited  a  likely  place  where  we 
had  discovered  many  bear  tracks.  We  stayed  up  all  night 
in  a  drizzling  rain,  hoping  to  get  a  shot.  I  am  tired  out.  So 
is  Tige.  Wetzel  did  not  mind  the  weather  or  the  ill  luck, 
and  when  we  ran  across  some  Indian  sign  he  went  off  on 
one  of  his  lonely  tramps,  leaving  me  to  come  home 
alone." 

"He  is  such  a  reckless  man,"  remarked  Mrs.  Zane. 

"Wetzel  is  reckless,  or  rather,  daring.  His  incomparable 
nerve  carries  him  safely  through  many  dangers,  where  an 
ordinary  man  would  have  no  show  whatever.  Well,  Betty, 
how  are  you?" 

"Quite  well,"  said  the  slender,  dark-eyed  girl  who  had  just 
taken  the  seat  opposite  the  Colonel. 

"Bessie,  has  my  sister  indulged  in  any  shocking  escapade 
in  my  absence?  I  think  that  last  trick  of  hers,  when  she 


BettyZane  19 

gave  a  bucket  of  hard  cider  to  that  poor  tame  bear,  should 
last  her  a  spell." 

"No,  for  a  wonder  Elizabeth  has  been  very  good.  How 
ever,  I  do  not  attribute  it  to  any  unusual  change  of  tempera 
ment;  simply  the  cold,  wet  weather.  I  anticipate  a  catas 
trophe  very  shortly  if  she  is  kept  indoors  much  longer." 

"I  have  not  had  much  opportunity  to  be  anything  but  well 
behaved.  If  it  rains  a  few  days  more  I  shall  become  desper 
ate.  I  want  to  ride  my  pony,  roam  the  woods,  paddle  my 
canoe,  and  enjoy  myself,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"Well!  Well!  Betts,  I  knew  it  would  be  dull  here  for  you, 
but  you  must  not  get  discouraged.  You  know  you  got  here 
late  last  fall,  and  have  not  had  any  pleasant  weather  yet.  It 
is  perfectly  delightful  in  May  and  June.  I  can  take  you  to 
fields  of  wild  white  honeysuckle  and  May  flowers  and  wild 
roses.  I  know  you  love  the  woods,  so  be  patient  a  little 
longer." 

Elizabeth  had  been  spoiled  by  her  brothers — what  girl 
would  not  have  been  by  five  great  big  worshippers? — and  any 
trivia?  thing  gone  wrong  with  her  was  a  serious  matter  to 
them.  They  were  proud  of  her,  and  of  her  beauty  and  ac 
complishments  were  never  tired  of  talking.  She  had  the  dark 
hair  and  eyes  so  characteristic  of  the  Zanes;  the  same  oval 
face  and  fine  features ;  and  added  to  this  was  a  certain  softness 
of  contour  and  a  sweetness  of  expression  which  made  her  face 
bewitching.  But,  in  spite  of  that  demure  and  innocent  face, 
she  possessed  a  decided  will  of  her  own,  and  one  very  apt  to 
be  asserted;  she  was  mischievous;  inclined  to  coquettishness, 
and  more  terrible  than  all  she  had  a  fiery  temper  which  could 
be  aroused  with  the  most  surprising  ease. 

Colonel  Zane  was  wont  to  say  that  his  sister's  accomplish 
ments  were  innumerable.  After  only  a  few  months  on  the 
border  she  could  prepare  the  flax  and  weave  a  linsey  dress- 
cloth  with  admirable  skill.  Sometimes  to  humor  Betty  the 
Colonel's  wife  would  allow  her  to  get  the  dinner,  and  she  would 
do  it  in  a  manner  that  pleased  her  brothers,  and  called  forth 
golden  praises  from  the  cook,  old  Sam's  wife,  who  had  beer 
with  the  family  twenty  years.  Bettj  sang  in  the  little  churcl 


20  Betty    Zane 

on  Sundays ;  she  organized  and  taught  a  Sunday  school  class ; 
she  often  beat  Colonel  Zane  and  Major  McColloch  at  their 
favorite  game  of  checkers,  which  they  had  played  together 
since  they  were  knee  high;  in  fact,  Betty  did  nearly  every 
thing  well,  from  baking  pies  to  painting  the  birch  bark  walls 
of  her  room.  But  these  things  were  insignificant  in  Colonel 
Zane's  eyes.  If  the  Colonel  were  ever  guilty  of  bragging  it 
was  about  his  sister's  ability  in  those  acquirements  demanding 
a  true  eye,  a  fleet  foet,  a  strong  arm  and  a  daring  spirit.  lie 
had  told  all  the  people  in  the  settlement,  to  many  of  whom 
Betty  was  unknown,  that  she  could  ride  like  an  Indian  and 
shoot  with  undoubted  skill;  that  she  had  a  generous  share  of 
the  Zanes'  fleetness  of  foot,  and  that  she  would  send  a  canoe 
over  as  bad  a  place  as  she  could  find.  The  boasts  of  the  Col 
onel  remained  as  yet  unproven,  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  Betty 
had,  notwithstanding  her  many  faults,  endeared  herself  to 
all.  She  made  sunshine  and  happiness  everywhere;  the  old 
people  loved  her ;  the  children  adored  her,  and  the  broad  shoul 
dered,  heavy  footed  young  settlers  were  shy  and  silent,  yet 
blissfully  happy  in  her  presence. 

"Betty,  will  you  fill  my  pipe?"  asked  the  Colonel,  when 
he  had  finished  his  supper  and  had  pulled  his  big  chair  nearer 
the  fire.  His  oldest  child,  Noah,  a  sturdy  lad  of  six,  climbed 
upon  his  knee  and  plied  him  with  questions. 

"Did  you  see  any  bars  and  bufflers?"  he  asked,  his  eyes  large 
and  round. 

"No,  my  lad,  not  one.** 

"How  long  will  it  be  until  I  am  big  enough  to  go?" 

"Not  for  a  very  long  time,  Noah." 

"But  I  am  not  afraid  of  Betty's  bar.  He  growls  at  me 
when  I  throw  sticks  at  him,  and  snaps  his  teeth.  Can  I  go 
with  you  next  time?" 

"My  brother  came  over  from  Short  Creek  to-day.  He 
has  been  to  Fort  Pitt,"  interposed  Mrs.  Zane.  As  she  was 
speaking  a  tap  sounded  on  the  door,  which,  being  opened  by 
Betty,  disclosed  Captain  Boggs,  his  daughter  Lydia,  and 
Major  Samuel  McColloch,  the  brother  of  Mrs.  Zane. 

"Ah,  Colonel!  I  expected  to  find  you  at  home  to-night. 


Betty    Zane  21 

The  weather  has  been  miserable  for  hunting  and  it  is  not 
getting  any  better.  The  wind  is  blowing  from  the  northwest 
and  a  storm  is  coming,"  said  Captain  Boggs,  a  fine,  soldierly 
looking  man. 

"Hello,  Captain!  How  are  you?  Sam,  I  have  not  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  for  a  long  time,"  replied  Colonel  Zane, 
as  he  shook  hands  with  his  guests. 

Major  McColloch  was  the  eldest  of  the  brothers  of  that 
name.  As  an  Indian  killer  he  ranked  next  to  the  intrepid 
Wetzel ;  but  while  Wetzel  preferred  to  take  his  chances  alone 
and  track  the  Indians  through  the  untrodden  wilds,  McCol 
loch  was  a  leader  of  expeditions  against  the  savages.  A  giant 
in  stature,  massive  in  build,  bronzed  and  bearded,  he  looked 
the  typical  frontiersman.  His  blue  eyes  were  like  those  of 
his  sister  and  his  voice  had  the  same  pleasant  ring. 

"Major  McColloch,  do  you  remember  me?"  asked  Betty. 

"Indeed  I  do,"  he  answered,  with  a  smile.  "You  were  a 
little  girl,  running  wild,  on  the  Potomac  when  I  last  saw 
you!" 

"Do  you  remember  when  you  used  to  lift  me  on  your  horse 
and  give  me  lessons  in  riding?" 

"I  remember  better  than  you.  How  you  used  to  stick  on 
the  back  of  that  horse  was  a  mystery  to  me." 

"Well,  I  shall  be  ready  soon  to  go  on  with  those  lessons  in 
riding.  I  have  heard  of  your  wonderful  leap  over  the  hill 
and  I  should  like  to  have  you  tell  me  all  about  it.  Of  all  the 
stories  I  have  heard  since  I  arrived  at  Fort  Henry,  the  one 
of  your  ride  and  leap  for  life  is  the  most  wonderful." 

"Yes,  Sam,  she  will  bother  you  to  death  about  that  ride, 
and  will  try  to  give  you  lessons  in  leaping  down  precipices.  1 
should  not  be  at  all  surprised  to  find  her  trying  to  duplicate 
your  feat.  You  know  the  Indian  pony  I  got  from  that  fur 
trader  last  summer.  Well,  he  is  as  wild  as  a  deer  and  she  has 
been  riding  him  without  his  being  broken,"  said  Colonel  Zane. 

"Some  other  time  I  shall  tell  you  about  my  jump  over  the 
hill.  Just  now  I  have  important  matters  to  discuss,"  answered 
the  Major  to  Betty. 

It  was  evident  that  something  unusual  had  occurred,  for 


2%  Betty    Zane 

after  chatting  a  few  moments  the  three  men  withdrew  into 
the  magazine  room  and  conversed  in  low,  earnest  tones. 

Lydia  Boggs  was  eighteen,  fair  haired  and  blue  eyed. 
Like  Betty  she  had  received  a  good  education,  arid,  in  that 
respect,  was  superior  to  the  border  girls,  who  seldom  knew 
more  than  to  keep  house  and  to  make  linen.  At  the  outbreak 
of  the  Indian  wars  General  Clark  had  stationed  Captain 
Boggs  at  Fort  Henry  and  Lydia  had  lived  there  with  him  two 
years.  After  Betty's  arrival,  which  she  hailed  with  delight, 
the  girls  had  become  fast  friends. 

Lydia  slipped  her  arm  affectionately  around  Betty's  neck 
and  said,  "Why  did  you  not  come  over  to  the  Fort  to-day?" 

"It  has  been  such  an  ugly  day,  so  disagreeable  altogether, 
that  I  have  remained  indoors." 

"You  missed  something,"  said  Lydia,  knowingly. 

"What  do  you  mean?     What  did  I  miss?" 

"Oh,  perhaps,  after  all,  it  will  not  interest  you." 

"How  provoking!  Of  course  it  will.  Anything  or  anybody 
would  interest  me  to-night.  Do  tell  me,  please." 

"It  isn't  much.  Only  a  young  soldier  came  over  with 
Major  McColloch." 

"A  soldier?  From  Fort  Pitt?  Do  I  know  him?  I  have 
met  most  of  the  officers." 

"No,  you  have  never  seen  him.  He  is  a  stranger  to  all 
of  us." 

"There  does  not  seem  to  be  so  much  in  your  news,"  said 
Betty,  in  a  disappointed  tone.  "To  be  sure,  strangers  are  a 
rarity  in  our  little  village,  but,  judging  from  the  strangers 
who  have  visited  us  in  the  past,  I  imagine  this  one  cannot 
be  much  different." 

"Wait  until  you  see  him,"  said  Lydia,  with  a  serious  little 
nod  of  her  head. 

"Come,  tell  me  all  about  him,"  said  Betty,  now  much  in 
terested. 

"Major  McColloch  brought  him  in  to  see  papa,  and  he 
was  introduced  to  me.  He  is  a  southerner  and  from  one  of 
those  old  families.  I  could  tell  by  his  cool,  easy,  almost  reck 
less  air.  He  is  handsome,  tall  and  fair,  and  his  face  is  frank 


BettyZane  23 

and  open.  He  has  such  beautiful  manners.  He  bowed  low 
to  me  and  really  I  felt  so  embarrassed  that  I  hardly  spoke. 
You  know  I  am  used  to  these  big  hunters  seizing  your  hand 
and  giving  it  a  squeeze  which  makes  you  want  to  scream. 
Well,  this  young  man  is  different,  He  is  a  cavalier.  All 
the  «:irls  are  in  love  with  him  already.  So  will  you  be." 

"I?  Indeed  not.  But  how  refreshing.  You  must  have 
been  strongly  impressed  to  see  and  remember  all  you  have 
told  me." 

"Betty  Zane,  I  remember  so  well  because  he  is  just  the  man 
you  described  one  day  when  we  were  building  castles  and 
telling  each  other  what  kind  of  a  hero  we  wanted." 

"Girls,  do  not  talk  such  nonsense,"  interrupted  the  Colonel's 
wife,  who  was  perturbed  by  the  colloquy  in  the  other  room. 
She  had  seen  those  ominous  signs  before.  "Can  you  find 
nothing  better  to  talk  about?" 

Meanwhile  Colonel  Zane  and  his  companions  vere  earnest!^ 
discussing  certain  information  which  had  arrived  that  day.  A 
friendly  Indian  runner  had  brought  news  to  Short  Creek,  a 
settlement  on  the  river  between  Fort  Henry  and  Fort  Pitt^ 
of  an  intended  raid  by  the  Indians  all  along  the  Ohio  valley. 
Major  McColloch,  who  had  been  warned  by  Wetzel  of  the 
fever  of  unrest  among  the  Indians — a  fever  which  broke  out 
every  spring — had  gone  to  Fort  Pitt  with  the  hope  of  bring 
ing  back  reinforcements,  but,  excepting  the  young  soldier, 
who  had  volunteered  to  return  with  him,  no  help  could  he  en 
list,  so  he  journeyed  back  post-haste  to  Fort  Henry. 

The  information  he  brought  disturbed  Captain  Boggs,  who 
commanded  the  grarrison,  as  a  number  of  men  were  away  on 
a  logging  expedition  up  the  river,  and  were  not  expected  to 
raft  down  to  the  Fort  for  two  weeks. 

Jonathan  Zane,  who  had  been  sent  for,  joined  the  trio  at 
this  moment,  and  was  acquainted  with  the  particulars.  The 
Zane  brothers  were  always  consulted  where  any  question  con* 
cerning  Indian  craft  and  cunning  was  to  be  decided.  Colonel 
Zane  had  a  strong;  friendly  influence  with  certain  tribes,  an<3 
his  advice  was  invaluable.  Jonathan  Zane  hated  the  sight  oi 
an  Indian  and  except  for  his  knowledge  as  a  scout,  or  Indiau 


24*  BettyZane 

tracker  or  fighter,  he  was  of  little  use  in  a  council.  Colonel 
Zane  informed  the  men  of  the  fact  that  Wetzel  and  he  had 
discovered  Indian  tracks  within  ten  miles  of  the  Fort,  and 
he  dwelt  particularly  on  the  disappearance  of  Wetzel. 

"Now,  you  can  depend  on  what  I  say.  There  are  Wyan- 
dots  in  force  on  the  war  path.  Wetzel  told  me  to  dig  for 
the  Fort  and  he  left  me  in  a  hurry.  We  were  near  that  cran 
berry  bog  over  at  the  foot  of  Bald  mountain.  I  do  not  be 
lieve  we  shall  be  attacked.  In  my  opinion  the  Indians  would 
come  up  from  the  west  and  keep  to  the  high  ridges  along  Yel 
low  creek.  They  always  come  that  way.  But,  of  course,  it 
is  best  to  know  surely,  and  I  daresay  Lew  will  come  in  to-night 
or  to-morrow  with  the  facts.  In  the  meantime  put  out  some 
scouts  back  in  the  woods  and  let  Jonathan  and  the  Major 
watch  the  river." 

"I  hope  Wetzel  will  come  in,"  said  the  Major.  "We  can 
trust  him  to  know  more  about  the  Indians  than  any  one.  It 
was  a  week  before  you  and  he  went  hunting  that  I  saw  him. 
I  went  to  Fort  Pitt  and  tried  to  bring  over  some  men,  but 
the  garrison  is  short  and  they  need  men  as  much  as  we  do. 
A  young  soldier  named  Clarke  volunteered  to  come  and  I 
brought  him  along  with  me.  He  has  not  seen  any  Indian 
fighting,  but  he  is  a  likely  looking  chap,  and  I  guess  will  do. 
Captain  Boggs  will  give  him  a  place  in  the  block  house  if 
you  say  so." 

"By  all  means.  We  shall  be  glad  to  have  him,"  said  Col 
onel  Zane. 

"It  would  not  be  so  serious  if  I  had  not  sent  the  men  up 
the  river,"  said  Captain  Boggs,  in  anxious  tones.  "Do  you 
think  it  possible  they  might  have  fallen  in  with  the  Indians?" 

"It  is  possible,  of  course,  but  not  probable,"  answered 
Colonel  Zane.  "The  Indians  are  all  across  the  Ohio.  Wetzel 
is  over  there  and  he  will  get  here  long  before  they  do." 

"I  hope  it  may  be  as  you  say.  I  have  much  confidence  in 
your  judgment,"  returned  Captain  Boggs.  "I  shall  put  out 
scouts  and  take  all  the  precaution  possible.  We  must  return 
now.  Come,  Lydia." 

"Whew!  What  an  awful  night  this  is  going  to  be,"  said 


Betty    Zane  25 

Colonel  Zane,  when  he  had  closed  the  door  after  his  guests* 
departure.     "I  should  not  care  to  sleep  out  to-night.53 

"Eb,  what  will  Lew  Wetzel  do  on  a  night  like  this?"  asked 
Betty,  curiously. 

"Oh,  Lew  will  be  as  snug  as  a  rabbit  in  his  burrow,"  said 
Colonel  Zane,  laughing.  "In  a  few  moments  he  can  build  a 
birch  bark  shack,  start  a  fire  inside  and  go  to  sleep  com 
fortably." 

"Ebenezer,  what  is  all  this  confab  about?  What  did  my 
brother  tell  you?"  asked  Mrs.  Zane,  anxiously. 

"We  are  in  for  more  trouble  from  the  Wyandots  and 
Shawnees.  But,  Bessie,  I  don't  believe  it  will  come  soon.  We 
are  too  well  protected  here  for  anything  but  a  protracted 
siege." 

Colonel  Zane's  light  and  rather  evasive  answer  did  not  de 
ceive  his  wife.  She  knew  her  brother  and  her  husband  would 
not  wear  anxious  faces  for  nothing.  Her  usually  bright  face 
clouded  with  a  look  of  distress.  She  had  seen  enough  of  In 
dian  warfare  to  make  her  shudder  with  horror  at  the  mere 
thought.  Betty  seemed  unconcerned.  She  sat  down  beside 
the  dog  and  patted  him  on  the  head. 

"T?ge,  Indians !  Indians !"  she  said. 

The  dog  growled  and  showed  his  teeth.  It  was  only  nec 
essary  to  mention  Indians  to  arouse  his  ire. 

"The  dog  has  been  uneasy  of  late,"  continued  Colonel  Zanet 
"He  found  the  Indian  tracks  before  Wetzel  did.  You  know 
how  Tige  hates  Indians.  Ever  since  he  came  home  with  Isaac 
four  years  ago  he  has  been  of  great  service  to  the  scouts,  as 
he  possesses  so  much  intelligence  and  sagacity.  Tige  fol 
lowed  Isaac  home  the  last  time  he  escaped  from  the  Wyan 
dots.  When  Isaac  was  in  captivity  he  nursed  and  cared  for 
the  dog  after  he  had  been  brutally  beaten  by  the  redskins. 
Have  you  ever  heard  that  long  mournful  howl  Tige  gives  out 
sometimes  in  the  dead  of  night?" 

"Yes  I  have,  and  it  makes  me  cover  up  my  head,"  said 
Betty. 

"Well,  it  is  Tige  mourning  for  Isaac,"  said  Colonel  Zane, 

"Poor  Isaac,"  murmured  Betty. 


26  Betty    Zane 

"Do  3rou  remember  him?  It  has  been  nine  years  since  you 
saw  him,'*  said  Mrs.  Zane. 

"Remember  Isaac  ?  Indeed  I  do.  I  shall  never  forget  him. 
I  wonder  if  he  is  still  living?" 

"Probably  not.  It  is  now  four  years  since  he  was  recap 
tured.  I  think  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  keep  him  that 
length  of  time,  unless,  of  course,  he  has  married  that  Indian 
girl.  The  simplicity  of  the  Indian  nature  is  remarkable.  He! 
could  aasilv  have  deceived  them  and  made  them  believe  he  was 
content  in  captivity.  Probably,  in  attempting  to  escape 
again,  he  has  been  killed  as  was  poor  Andrew." 

Brother  and  sister  gazed  with  dark,  sad  eyes  into  the  fire, 
now  burned  down  to  a  glowing  bed  of  coals.  The  silence  re 
mained  unbroken  save  for  the  moan  of  the  rising  wind  out 
side,  the  rattle  of  hail,  and  the  patter  of  rain  drops  on  the 


CHAPTER    H. 


ORT  HENRY  stood  on  a  bluff  over 
looking  the  river  and  commanded  a  fine 
view  of  the  surrounding  country.  In 
shape  it  was  a  parallelogram,  being 
about  three  hundred  and  fifty-six  feet 
in  length,  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  in 
width.  Surrounded  by  a  stockade  fence 
twelve  feet  high,  with  a  yard  wide  walk 
running  around  the  inside,  and  with 
bastions  at  each  corner  large  enough  to 
contain  six  defenders,  the  fort  presented  an  almost  impregna 
ble  defense.  The  blockhouse  was  two  stories  in  height,  the 
second  story  projecting  out  several  feet  over  the  first.  The 
thick  white  oak  walls  bristled  with  portholes.  Besides  the 
blockhouse,  there  were  a  number  of  cabins  located  within  the 
stockade.  Wells  had  been  sunk  inside  the  inclosure,  so  that 
if  the  spring  happened  to  go  dry,  an  abundance  of  good 
water  could  be  had  at  all  times. 

In  all  the  histories  of  frontier  life  mention  is  made  of  the 
forts  and  the  protection  they  offered  in  time  of  savage  war 
fare.  These  forts  were  used  as  homes  for  the  settlers,  who 
often  lived  for  weeks  inside  the  walls. 

Forts  constructed  entirely  of  wood  without  the  aid  of  a 
nail  or  spike  (for  the  good  reason  that  these  things  could 
not  be  had)  may  seem  insignificant  in  these  days  of  great  na- 
'val  and  military  garrisons.  However,  they  answered  the  pur 
pose  at  that  time  and  served  to  protect  many  an  infant  settle* 
ment  from  the  savage  attacks  of  Indian  tribes.  During  a 
siege  of  Fort  Henry,  which  had  occurred  about  a  year  pre 
vious,  the  settlers  would  have  lost  scarcely  a  man  had  they 
kept  to  the  fort.  But  Captain  Ogle,  at  that  time  in  charge 
of  the  garrison,  had  led  a  company  out  in  search  of  the  In 
dians.  Nearly  all  of  his  men  were  killed,  several  only  making 
their  way  to  the  fort. 


23  B  e  t  t.y    Z  a  n  t 

On  the  day  following  Major  McColloch's  arrival  at  Fort 
Henry,  the  settlers  had  been  called  in  from  their  spring  plow 
ing  and  other  labors,  and  were  now  busily  engaged  in  mov 
ing  their  stock  and  the  things  they  wished  to  save  from  the 
destructive  torch  of  the  redskin.  The  women  had  their  hands 
full  with  the  children,  the  cleaning  of  rifles  and  moulding 
of  bullets,  and  the  thousand  and  one  things  the  sterner  tasks 
of  their  husbands  had  left  them.  Major  McColloch,  Jonathan 
and  Silas  Zane,  early  in  the  day,  had  taken  different  direc 
tions  along  the  river  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for  signs  of  the 
enemy.  Colonel  Zane  intended  to  stay  in  his  own  house  and 
defend  it,  so  he  had  not  moved  anything  to  the  fort  excepting 
his  horses  and  cattle.  Old  Sam,  the  negro,  was  hauling  loads 
of  hay  inside  the  stockade.  Captain  Boggs  had  detailed  sev 
eral  scouts  to  watch  the  roads  and  one  of  these  was  the  young 
man,  Clarke,  who  had  accompanied  the  Major  from  Fort 
Pitt. 

The  appearance  of  Alfred  Clarke,  despite  the  fact  that  he 
wore  the  regulation  hunting  garb,  indicated  a  young  mail 
to  whom  the  hard  work  and  privation  of  the  settler  were  un 
accustomed  things.  So  thought  the  pioneers  who  noticed  his 
graceful  walk,  his  fair  skin  and  smooth  hands.  Yet  those 
who  carefully  studied  his  clearcut  features  were  favorably  im 
pressed  ;  the  women,  by  the  direct,  honest  gaze  of  his  blue  eyes 
and  the  absence  of  ungentle  lines  in  his  face ;  the  men,  by  the 
good  nature,  and  that  indefinable  something  by  which  a  man 
marks  another  as  true  steel. 

He  brought  nothing  with  him  from  Fort  Pitt  except  his 
horse,  a  black-coated,  fine  limbed  thoroughbred,  which  he 
frankly  confessed  was  all  he  could  call  his  own.  When  ask 
ing  Colonel  Zane  to  give  him  a  position  in  the  garrison  he 
said  he  was  a  Virginian  and  had  been  educated  in  Philadel 
phia  ;  that  after  his  father  died  his  mother  married  again,  and 
this,  together  with  a  natural  love  of  adventure,  had  induced 
him  to  run  away  and  seek  his  fortune  with  the  foardy  pioneer 
and  the  cunning  savage  of  the  border.  Beyond  a  few  months' 
service  under  General  Clark  he  knew  nothing  of  frontier  life ; 
but  he  was  tired  of  idleness ;  he  was  strong  and  not  afraid  of 


Betty    Zane  29 

work,  and  he  could  learn.  Colonel  Zane,  who  prided  himself 
on  his  judgment  of  character,  took  a  liking  to  the  young  man 
at  once,  and  giving  him  a  rifle  and  accoutrements,  told  him 
the  border  needed  young  men  of  pluck  and  fire,  and  that  if 
he  brought  a  strong  hand  and  a  willing  heart  he  could  surely 
find  fortune.  Possibly  if  Alfred  Clarke  could  have  been  told 
of  the  fate  in  store  for  him  he  might  have  mounted  his  black 
steed  and  have  placed  miles  between  him  and  the  frontier  vil 
lage  ;  but,  as  there  were  none  to  tell,  he  went  cheerfully  out  to 
meet  that  fate. 

On  this  bright  spring  morning  he  patrolled  the  road  lead 
ing  along  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  which  was  distant  a  quar 
ter  of  a  mile  from  the  fort.  He  kept  a  keen  eye  on  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  river,  as  he  had  been  directed.  From  the 
upper  end  of  the  island,  almost  straight  across  from  where  he 
stood,  the  river  took  a  broad  turn,  which  could  not  be  observed 
from  the  fort  windows.  The  river  was  high  from  the  recent 
rains  and  brush  heaps  and  logs  and  debris  of  all  descriptions 
were  floating  down  with  the  swift  current.  Rabbits  and  other 
small  animals,  which  had  probably  been  surrounded  on  some 
island  and  compelled  to  take  to  the  brush  or  drown,  crouched 
€n  floating  logs  and  piles  of  driftwood.  Happening  to  glance 
down  the  road,  Clarke  saw  a  horse  galloping  in  his  direction. 
At  first  he  thought  it  was  a  messenger  for  himself,  but  as  it 
neared  him  he  saw  that  the  horse  was  an  Indian  pony  and  the 
rider  a  young  girl,  whose  long,  black  hair  was  flying  in  the 
wind. 

"Hello!  I  wonder  what  the  deuce  this  is?  Looks  like  an 
Indian  girl,"  said  Clarke  to  himself.  "She  rides  well,  whoever 
she  may  be." 

He  stepped  behind  a  clump  of  laurel  bushes  near  the  road 
side  and  waited.  Rapidly  the  horse  and  rider  approached 
him.  When  they  were  but  a  few  paces  distant  he  sprang 
out  and,  as  the  pony  shied  and  reared  at  sight  of  him,  he 
clutched  the  bridle  and  pulled  the  pony's  head  down.  Looking 
up  he  encountered  the  astonished  and  bewildered  gaze  from 
a  pair  of  the  prettiest  dark  eyes  it  had  ever  been  his  fortune, 
or  misfortune,  to  look  into. 


10  Betty    Zane 

Betty,  for  it  was  she,  looked  at  the  young  man  in  amaze 
ment,  while  Alfred  was  even  more  surprised  and  disconcerted. 
For  a  moment  they  looked  at  each  other  in  silence.  But 
Betty,  who  was  scarcely  ever  at  a  loss  for  words,  presently 
found  her  voice. 

"Well,  sir !    What  does  this  mean  ?"  she  asked  indignantly. 

"It  means  that  you  must  turn  around  and  go  back  to  the 
fort,"  answered  Alfred,  also  recovering  himself. 

Now  Betty's  favorite  ride  happened  to  be  along  this  road. 
It  lay  along  the  top  of  the  bluff  a  mile  or  more  and  afforded 
a  fine  unobstructed  view  of  the  river.  Betty  had  either  not 
heard  of  the  Captain's  order,  that  no  one  was  to  leave  the  fort, 
or  she  had  disregarded  it  altogether;  probably  the  latter,  as 
she  generally  did  what  suited  her  fancy. 

"Release  my  pony's  head !"  she  cried,  her  face  flushing,  as 
she  gave  a  jerk  to  the  reins.  "How  dare  you?  What  right 
have  you  to  detain  me?" 

The  expression  Betty  saw  on  Clarke's  face  was  not  new  to 
her,  for  she  remembered  having  seen  it  on  the  faces  of  young 
gentlemen  whom  she  had  met  at  her  aunt's  house  in  Philadel 
phia.  It  was  the  slight,  provoking  smile  of  the  man  familiar 
with  the  various  moods  of  young  women,  the  expression  of  an 
amused  contempt  for  their  imperiousness.  But  it  was  not  that 
which  angered  Betty.  It  was  the  coolness  with  which  he  still 
held  her  pony  regardless  of  her  commands. 

"Pray  do  not  get  excited,"  he  said.  "I  am  sorry  I  cannot 
allow  such  a  pretty  little  girl  to  have  her  own  way.  I  shall 
hold  your  pony  until  you  say  you  will  go  back  to  the  fort." 

"Sir!"  exclaimed  Betty,  blushing  a  bright  red.  "You— • 
you  are  impertinent!" 

"Not  at  all,"  answered  Alfred,  with  a  pleasant  laugh.  "I 
am  sure  I  do  not  intend  to  be.  Captain  Boggs  did  not  ac 
quaint  me  with  full  particulars  or  I  might  have  declined  my 
present  occupation;  not,  however,  that  it  is  not  agreeable  just 
at  this  moment.  He  should  have  mentioned  the  danger  of 
my  being  run  down  by  Indian  ponies  and  imperious  young 
ladies." 

"Will  you  let  go  of  that  bridle,  or  shall  I  get  off  and  wait 


Betty    Zane  31 

back  for  assistance?"  said  Betty,  getting  angrier  every  m<v 
ment. 

"Go  back  to  the  fort  at  once,"  ordered  Alfred,  authori* 
tatively.  "Captain  Boggs'  orders  are  that  no  one  shall  b* 
allowed  to  leave  the  clearing." 

"Oh!  Why  did  you  not  say  so?  I  thought  you  were 
Simon  Girty,  or  a  highwayman.  Was  it  necessary  to  keep  me 
here  all  this  time  to  explain  that  you  were  on  duty?" 

"You  know  sometimes  it  is  difficult  to  explain,"  said  Alfred, 
"besides,  the  situation  had  its  charm.  No,  I  am  not  a  robber, 
and  I  don't  believe  you  thought  so,  I  have  only  thwarted 
a  young  lady's  whim,  which  I  am  aware  is  a  great  crime.  I 
am  very  sorry.  Goodbye." 

Betty  gave  him  a  withering  glance  from  her  black  eyes, 
wheeled  her  pony  and  galloped  away.  A  mellow  laugh  was 
borne  to  her  ears  before  she  got  out  of  hearing,  and  again 
the  red  blood  mantled  her  cheeks. 

"Heavens!  What  a  little  beauty,"  said  Alfred  to  himself, 
as  he  watched  the  graceful  rider  disappear.  "What  spirit! 
Now,  I  wonder  who  she  can  be.  She  had  on  moccasins  and 
buckskin  gloves  and  her  hair  tumbled  like  a  tomboy's,  but  she 
is  no  backwoods  girl,  I'll  bet  on  that.  I'm  afraid  I  was  a 
little  rude,  but  after  taking  such  a  stand  I  could  not  weaken, 
especially  before  such  a  haughty  and  disdainful  little  vixen. 
It  was  too  great  a  temptation.  What  eyes  she  had!  Con 
trary  to  what  I  expected,  this  little  frontier  settlement  bids 
fair  to  become  interesting." 

The  afternoon  wore  slowly  away,  and  until  late  in  the  day 
nothing  further  happened  to  disturb  Alfred's  meditations, 
which  consisted  chiefly  of  different  mental  views  and  pictures 
of  red  lips  and  black  eyes.  Jusr,  as  he  decided  to  return  to  the 
fort  for  his  supper  he  heard  the  barking  of  a  dog  that  he 
had  seen  running  along  the  road  some  moments  before.  The 
sound  came  from  some  distance  down  the  river  bank  and  nearer 
the  fort.  Walking  a  few  paces  up  the  bluff  Alfred  caught 
sight  of  a  large  black  dog  running  along  the  edge  of  the 
water.  He  would  run  into  the  water  a  few  paces  and  then 
come  out  and  dash  along  the  shore.  He  barked  furiously  aD 


8£  Betty    Zane 

the  wiiDe.  Alfred  concluded  he  must  have  been  excited  by  a 
fox  or  perhaps  a  wolf ;  so  he  climbed  down  the  steep  bank  and 
spoke  to  the  dog.  Thereupon  the  dog  barked  louder  and 
more  fiercely  than  ever,  ran  to  the  water,  looked  out  into  the 
river  and  then  up  at  the  man  with  almost  human  intelli 
gence. 

Alfred  understood.  He  glanced  out  over  the  muddy  water  > 
at  first  making  out  nothing  but  driftwood.  Then  suddenly 
he  saw  a  log  with  an  object  clinging  to  it  which  he  took  to  be 
a  man,  and  an  Indian  at  that.  Alfred  raised  his  rifle  to  his 
shoulder  and  was  in  the  act  of  pressing  the  trigger  when 
he  thought  he  heard  a  faint  halloo.  Looking  closer,  he  found 
he  was  not  covering  the  smooth  polished  head  adorned  with 
the  small  tuft  of  hair,  peculiar  to  a  redskin  on  the  warpath, 
but  a  head  from  which  streamed  long  black  hair. 

Alfred  lowered  his  rifle  and  studied  intently  the  log  with  its 
human  burden.  Drifting  with  the  current  it  gradually  ap 
proached  the  bank,  and  as  it  came  nearer  he  saw  that  it  bore 
a  white  man,  who  was  holding  to  the  log  with  one  hand  and 
with  the  other  was  making  feeble  strokes.  He  concluded  the 
man  was  either  wounded  or  nearly  drowned,  for  his  movements 
were  becoming  slower  and  weaker  every  moment.  His  white 
face  lay  against  the  log  and  barely  above  water.  Alfred 
shouted  encouraging  words  to  him. 

At  the  bend  of  the  river  a  little  rocky  point  jutted  out  a 
few  yards  into  the  water.  As  the  current  carried  the  log 
toward  this  point,  Alfred,  after  divesting  himself  of  some 
of  his  clothing,  plunged  in  and  pulled  it  to  the  shore.  The 
pallid  face  of  the  man  clinging  to  the  log  showed  that  he  was 
nearly  exhausted,  and  that  he  had  been  rescued  in  the  nick 
of  time.  When  Alfred  reached  shoal  water  he  slipped  his  arm 
around  the  man,  who  was  unable  to  stand,  and  carried  him 
ashore. 

The  rescued  man  wore  a  buckskin  hunting"  shirt  and  leggins 
and  moccasins  of  the  same  material,  all  very  much  the  worse 
for  wear.  The  leggins  were  torn  into  tatters  and  the  mocca 
sins  worn  through.  His  face  was  pinched  with  suffering  and 
one  arm  was  bleeding  from  a  gunshot  wound  near  the  shoulder. 


Betty     Zane  33 

"Can  you  not  speak?  Who  are  you?"  asked  Clarke,  sup 
posing  the  limp  figure. 

The  man  made  several  efforts  to  answer,  and  finally  said 
something  that  to  Alfred  sounded  like  "Zane,"  then  he  fell 
to  the  ground  unconscious. 

All  this  time  the  dog  had  acted  in  a  most  peculiar  manner, 
and  if  Alfred  had  not  been  so  intent  on  the  man  he  would 
have  noticed  the  animal's  odd  maneuvers.  He  ran  to  and  fro 
on  the  sandy  beach ;  he  scratched  up  the  sand  and  pebbles, 
sending  them  flying  in  the  air ;  he  made  short,  furious  dashes ; 
he  jumped,  whirled,  and,  at  last,  crawled  close  to  the  motion 
less  figure  and  licked  its  hand. 

Clarke  realized  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  carry  the  in 
animate  figure,  so  he  hurriedly  put  on  his  clothes  and  set  out 
on  a  run  for  Colonel  Zane's  house.  The  first  person  whom 
he  saw  was  the  old  negro  slave,  who  was  brushing  one  of  the 
Colonel's  horses. 

Sam  was  deliberate  and  took  his  time  about  everything.  He 
glowly  looked  up  and  surveyed  Clarke  with  his  rolling  eyes. 
He  did  not  recognize  in  him  any  one  he  had  ever  seen  before, 
and  being  of  a  sullen  and  taciturn  nature,  especially  with 
strangers,  he  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  give  the  desired  informa 
tion  as  to  Colonel  Zane's  whereabouts. 

"Don't  stare  at  me  that  way,  you  damn  nigger,"  said 
Clarke,  who  was  used  to  being  obeyed  by  negroes.  "Quick, 
you  idiot.  Where  is  the  Colonel?" 

At  that  moment  Colonel  Zane  came  out  of  the  barn  and 
started  to  speak,  when  Clarke  interrupted  him. 

"Colonel,  I  have  just  pulled  a  man  out  of  the  river  who 
says  his  name  is  Zane,  or  if  he  did  not  mean  that,  he  knows 
you,  for  he  surely  said  'Zane.' ' 

"What!"  ejaculated  the  Colonel,  letting  his  pipe  fall  from 
bis  mouth. 

Clarke  related  the  Circumstances  in  a  few  hurried  words. 
Calling  Sam  they  ran  quickly  down  to  the  river,  where  they 
found  the  prostrate  figure  as  Clarke  had  left  it,  the  dog  still 
crouched  close  by. 

"My  God!    It  is  Isaac!"  exclaimed  Colonel  Zane,  when  he 


34  BettyZanc 

saw  the  while  face.  "Poor  boy,  he  looks  as  if  he  were  dead. 
Are  you  sure  he  spoke?  Of  course  he  must  have  spoken  fov, 
you  could  not  have  known.  Yes,  his  heart  is  still  beating." 

Colonel  Zane  raised  his  head  from  the  unconscious  manV 
breast,  where  he  had  laid  it  to  listen  for  the  beating  heart. 

"Clarke,  God  bless  you  for  saving  him,"  said  he  fervently. 
"It  shall  never  be  forgotten.  He  is  alive,  and,  I  believe,  only 
exhausted,  for  that  wound  amounts  to  little.  Let  us  hurry." 

"I  did  not  save  him.  It  was  the  dog,"  Alfred  made  haste 
to  answer. 

They  carried  the  dripping  form  to  the  house,  where  the 
door  was  opened  by  Mrs.  Zane. 

"Oh,  dear,  another  poor  man,"  she  said,  pityingly.  Then* 
as  she  saw  his  face,  "Great  Heavens,  it  is  Isaac!  Oh!  don't 
say  he  is  dead !" 

"Yes,  it  is  Isaac,  and  he  is  worth  any  number  of  dead  men 
yet,"  said  Colonel  Zane,  as  they  laid  the  insensible  man  on  the 
couch.  "Bessie,  there  is  work  here  for  you.  He  has  beeij. 
shot." 

"Is  there  any  other  wound  beside  this  one  in  his  arm  ?"  askej/ 
Mrs.  Zane,  examining  it. 

"I  do  not  think  so,  and  that  injury  is  not  serious.  It  is  low 
of  blood,  exposure  and  starvation.  Clarke,  will  you  pleastt 
run  over  to  Captain  Boggs  and  tell  Betty  to  hurry  hornet4 
Sam,  you  get  a  blanket  and  warm  it  by  the  fire.  That's  right, 
Bessie,  bring  the  whiskey,"  and  Colonel  Zane  went  on  giving 
orders. 

Alfred  did  not  know  in  the  least  who  Betty  was,  but,  as  he 
thought  that  unimportant,  he  started  off  on  a  run  for  the 
fort.  He  had  a  vague  idea  that  Betty  was  the  servant,  possi 
bly  Sam's  wife,  or  some  one  of  the  Colonel's  several  slaves. 

Let  us  return  to  Betty.  As  she  wheeled  her  pony  and  rode 
away  from  the  scene  of  her  adventure  on  the  river  bluff,  her 
state  of  mind  can  be  more  readily  imagined  than  described. 
Betty  hated  opposition  of  any  kind,  whether  justifiable  or  not; 
she  wanted  her  own  way,  and  when  prevented  from  doing  as 
she  pleased  she  invariably  got  angry.  To  be  ordered  and 
compelled  to  give  up  her  ride,  and  that  by  a  stranger,  was 


BettyZane  35 

intolerable.  To  make  it  all  the  worse  this  stranger  had  been 
decidedly  flippant.  He  had  familiarly  spoken  to  her  as  "a 
pretty  little  girl."  Not  only  that,  which  was  a  great  offense, 
but  he  had  stared  at  her,  and  she  had  a  confused  recollection 
of  a  gaze  in  which  admiration  had  been  ill  disguised.  Of 
course,  it  was  that  soldier  Lydia  had  been  telling  her  about. 
Strangers  were  of  so  rare  an  occurrence  in  the  little  village 
that  it  was  not  probable  there  could  be  more  than  one. 

Approaching  the  house  she  met  her  brother  who  told  her 
she  had  better  go  indoors  and  let  Sam  put  up  the  pony.  Ac 
cordingly,  Betty  called  the  negro,  and  then  went  into  the 
house.  Bessie  had  gone  to  the  fort  with  the  children.  Betty 
found  no  one  to  talk  to,  so  she  tried  to  read.  Finding  she 
could  not  become  interested  she  threw  the  book  aside  and  took 
up  her  embroidery.  This  also  turned  out  a  useless  effort; 
she  got  the  linen  hopelessly  twisted  and  tangled,  and  presently 
she  tossed  this  upon  the  table.  Throwing  her  shawl  over  her 
shoulders,  for  it  was  now  late  in  the  afternoon  and  growing 
chilly,  she  walked  downstairs  and  out  into  the  yard.  She 
strolled  aimlessly  to  and  fro  awhile,  and  then  went  over  to 
the  fort  and  into  Captain  Bogg*s  house,  which  adjoined  the 
blockhouse.  Here  she  found  Lydia  preparing  flax. 

"I  saw  you  racing  by  on  your  pony.  Goodness,  how  you 
can  ride !  I  should  be  afraid  of  breaking  my  neck,"  exclaimed 
Lydia,  as  Betty  entered. 

"My  ride  was  spoiled,"  said  Betty,  petulantly. 

"Spoilt  d  ?    By  Wiiat — whom  ?" 

"By  a  toan,  of  course,"  retorted  Betty,  whose  temper  still 
was  high.  "It  is  always  a  man  that  spoils  everything." 

"Why,  Betty,  what  in  the  world  do  you  mean?  I  never 
heard  yon  talk  that  way,"  said  Lydia,  opening  her  blue  eyes 
in  astonishment. 

"Well,  Lyde,  Pll  tell  you.  I  was  riding  down  the  river 
road  and  just  as  I  came  to  the  end  of  the  clearing  a  man 
jumped  out  from  behind  some  bushes  and  grasped  Madcap's 
bridle.  Imagine !  For  a  moment  I  was  frightened  out  of  my 
wits.  I  instantly  thought  of  the  Girtys,  who,  I  have  heard, 
have  evinced  a  fondness  for  kidnapping  little  girls.  Then 


S6  Betty    Zane 

the  fellow  said  he  was  on  guard  and  ordered  me,  actually  com 
manded  me  to  go  home." 

"Oh,  is  that  all?"  said  Lydia,  laughing. 

"No,  that  is  not  all.  He — he  said  I  was  a  pretty  little  girl 
and  that  he  was  sorry  I  could  not  have  my  own  way ;  that  his 
present  occupation  was  pleasant,  and  that  the  situation  had  its 
charm.  The  very  idea.  He  was  most  impertinent,"  and 
Betty's  telltale  cheeks  reddened  again  at  the  recollection. 

"Betty,  I  do  not  think  your  experience  was  so  dreadful, 
certainly  nothing  to  put  you  out  as  it  has,"  said  Lydia,  laugh 
ing  merrily.  "Be  serious.  You  know  we  are  out  in  the  back 
woods  now  and  must  not  expect  so  much  of  the  men.  These 
rough  border  men  know  little  of  refinement  like  that  with 
which  you  have  been  familiar.  Some  of  them  are  quiet  and 
,  never  speak  unless  addressed ;  their  simplicity  is  remarkable ; 
Lew  Wetzel  and  your  brother  Jonathan,  when  they  are  not 
fighting  Indians,  are  examples.  On  the  other  hand,  some  of 
them  are  boisterous  and  if  they  get  anything  to  drink  they 
will  make  trouble  for  you.  Why,  I  went  to  a  party  one  night 
after  I  had  been  here  only  a  few  weeks  and  they  played  a 
game  in  which  every  man  in  the  place  kissed  me." 

"Gracious !  Please  tell  me  when  any  such  games  are  likely 
to  be  proposed  and  Fll  stay  home,"  said  Betty. 

"I  have  learned  to  get  along  very  well  by  simply  making 
the  best  of  it,"  continued  Lydia.  "And  to  tell  the  truth,  I 
have  learned  to  respect  these  rugged  fellows.  They  are  un 
couth;  they  have  no  manners,  but  their  hearts  are  honest 
and  true,  and  that  is  of  much  greater  importance  in  frontiers 
men  than  the  little  attentions  and  courtesies  upon  which  women 
are  apt  to  lay  too  much  stress." 

"I  think  you  speak  sensibly  and  I  shall  try  and  be  more 
reasonable  hereafter.  But,  to  return  to  the  man  who  spoiled 
my  ride.  He,  at  least,  is  no  frontiersman,  notwithstanding 
bis  gun  and  his  buckskin  suit.  He  is  an  educated  man.  His 
manner  and  accent  showed  that.  Then  he  looked  at  me  so 
differently.  I  know  it  was  that  soldier  from  Fort  Pitt." 

"Mr.  Clarke?  Why,  of  course !"  exclaimed  Lydia,  clapping 
her  hands  in  glee.  "How  stupid  of  me !" 


BettyZane  37 

"You  seem  to  be  amused,"  said  Betty,  frowning. 

"Oh,  Betty,  it  is  such  a  good  joke." 

"Is  it?     I  fail  to  see  it." 

"But  I  can.  I  am  very  much  amused.  You  see,  I  heard 
Mr.  Clarke  say,  after  papa  told  him  tiicre  were  lots  of  pretty 
girls  here,  that  he  usually  succeedcxi  in  finding  those  things 
out  and  without  any  assistance.  And  the  very  first  day  he  has 
met  you  and  made  you  angry.  It  is  delightful." 

"Lyde,  I  never  knew  you  could  be  so  horrid." 

"It  is  evident  that  Mr.  Clarke  is  not  only  discerning,  but 
not  backward  in  expressing  his  thoughts,  Betty,  I  see  a  ro 


mance.'* 


"Don't  be  ridiculous,"  retorted  Betty,  with  an  angry  blush. 
"Of  course,  he  had  a  right  to  stop  me,  and  perhaps  he  did 
me  a  good  turn  by  keeping  me  inside  the  clearing,  though  I 
cannot  imagine  why  he  hid  behind  the  bushes.  But  he  might 
have  been  polite.  He  made  me  angry.  He  was  so  cool  and — 
and " 

"I  see,"  interrupted  Lydia,  teasingly.  "He  failed  to  recog 
nize  your  importance." 

"Nonsense,  Lydia.  I  hope  you  do  not  think  I  am  a  silly 
little  fool.  It  is  only  that  I  have  not  been  accustomed  to  that 
kind  of  treatment,  and  I  will  not  have  it." 

Lydia  was  rather  pleased  that  some  one  had  appeared  on  the 
scene  who  did  not  at  once  bow  down  before  Betty,  and  there 
fore  she  took  the  young  man's  side  of  the  argument. 

"Do  not  be  hard  on  poor  Mr.  Clarke.  Maybe  he  mistook 
you  for  an  Indian  girl.  He  is  handsome.  I  am  sure  you  saw 
that." 

"Oh,  I  don't  remember  how  he  looked,"  said  Betty.  Sh< 
did  remember,  but  would  not  admit  it. 

The  conversation  drifted  into  other  channels  after  this, 
and  soon  twilight  came  stealing  down  on  them.  As  Betty 
rose  to  go  there  came  a  hurried  tap  on  the  door. 

"I  wonder  who  would  knock  like  that,"  said  Lydia,  rising. 
"Betty,  wait  a  moment  while  I  open  the  door." 

On  doing  this  she  discovered  Clarke  standing  on  the  step 
with  his  cap  in  his  hand. 


S8  Betty    Zane 

"Why,  Mr.  Clarke!    Will  you  come  in?"  exclaimed  Lydia. 

"Thank  you,  only  for  a  moment,"  said  Alfred.  "I  cannot 
stay.  I  came  to  find  Betty.  Is  she  here?" 

He  had  not  observed  Betty,  who  had  stepped  back  into  the 
shadow  of  the  darkening  room.  At  his  question  Lydia  became 
so  embarrassed  she  did  not  know  what  to  say  or  do,  and  stood 
looking  helplessly  at  him. 

But  Betty  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  At  the  mention  of 
her  first  name  in  such  a  familiar  manner  by  this  stranger,  who 
had  already  grievously  offended  her  once  before  that  day, 
Betty  stood  perfectly  still  a  moment,  speechless  with  surprise, 
then  she  stepped  quickly  out  of  the  shadow. 

Clarke  turned  as  he  heard  her  step  and  looked  straight  into 
a  pair  of  dark,  scornful  eyes  and  a  face  pale  with  anger. 

"If  it  be  necessary  that  you  use  my  name,  and  I  do  not  see 
how  that  can  be  possible,  will  you  please  have  courtesy  enough 
to  say  Miss  Zane?"  she  cried  haughtily. 

Lydia  recovered  her  composure  sufficiently  to  falter  out: 

"Betty,  allow  me  to  introduce " 

"Do  not  trouble  yourself,  Lydia.  I  have  met  this  person 
once  before  to-day,  and  I  do  not  care  for  an  introduction." 

When  Alfred  found  himself  gazing  into  the  face  that  had 
haunted  him  all  the  afternoon,  he  forgot  for  the  moment  all 
about  his  errand.  He  was  finally  brought  to  a  realization  of 
the  true  state  of  affairs  by  Lydia's  words. 

"Mr.  Clarke,  you  are  all  wet.  What  has  happened?"  she 
exclaimed,  noticing  the  water  dripping  from  his  garments. 

Suddenly  a  light  broke  in  on  Alfred.  So  the  girl  he  had 
accosted  on  the  road  and  "Betty"  were  one  and  the  same  per- 
r$on.  His  face  flushed.  He  felt  that  his  rudeness  on  that 
^ccasion  may  have  merited  censure,  but  that  it  had  not  justi 
fied  the  humiliation  she  had  put  upon  him. 

These  two  persons,  so  strangely  brought  together,  and  on 
whom  Fate  had  made  her  inscrutable  designs,  looked  steadily 
into  each  other's  eyes.  What  mysterious  force  thrilled  through 
Alfred  Clarke  and  made  Betty  Zane  tremble? 

"Miss  Boggs,  I  am  twice  unfortunate,"  said  Alfred,  turning 
to  Lydia,  and  there  was  an  earnest  ring  in  his*  deep  voice- 


BettyZane  39 

"This  time  I  am  indeed  blameless.  I  have  just  left  Colonel 
Zaae's  house,  where  there  has  been  an  accident,  and  I  was 
dispatched  to  find  'Betty,'  being  entirely  ignorant  as  to  who 
she  might  be.  Colonel  Zane  did  not  stop  to  explain.  Miss 
Zane  is  needed  at  the  house,  that  is  all." 

And  without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  Betty  he  bowed  low 
to  Lydia  and  then  strode  out  of  the  open  door. 

"What  did  he  say  ?"  asked  Betty,  in  a  small  trembling  voice, 
all  her  anger  and  resentment  vanished. 

"There  has  been  an  accident.  He  did  not  say  what  or  to 
whom.  You  must  hurry  home.  Oh,  Betty,  I  hope  no  one  has 
been  hurt !  And  you  were  very  unkind  to  Mr.  Clarke.  I  am 
sure  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  you  might  have  waited  a  moment 
to  learn  what  he  meant." 

Betty  did  not  answer,  but  flew  out  of  the  door  and  down 
the  path  to  the  gate  of  the  fort.  She  was  almost  breathless 
when  she  reached  Colonel  Zane's  house,  and  hesitated  on  the 
step  before  entering.  Summoning  her  courage  she  pushed 
open  the  door.  The  first  thing  that  struck  her  after  the  bright 
light  was  the  pungent  odor  of  strong  liniment.  She  saw 
several  women  neighbors  whispering  together.  Major  Mc- 
Colloch  and  Jonathan  Zane  were  standing  by  a  couch  over 
which  Mrs.  Zane  was  bending.  Colonel  Zane  sat  at  the  foot 
of  the  couch.  Betty  saw  this  in  the  first  rapid  glance,  and 
then,  as  the  Colonel's  wife  moved  aside,  she  saw  a  prostrate 
figure,  a  white  face  and  dark  eyes  that  smiled  at  her. 

"Betty,"  came  in  a  low  voice  from  those  pale  lips. 

Her  heart  leaped  and  then  seemed  to  cease  beating.  Many 
long  years  had  passed  since  she  had  heard  that  voice,  but  it 
had  never  been  forgotten.  It  was  the  best  beloved  voice  of 
her  childhood,  and  with  it  came  the  sweet  memories  of  her 
brother  and  playmate.  With  a  cry  of  joy  she  fell  on  her 
knees  beside  him  and  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"Oh,  Isaac,  brother,  brother !"  she  cried,  as  she  kissed  him 
again  and  again.  "Can  it  really  be  you?  Oh,  it  is  too  good 
to  be  true !  Thank  God !  I  have  prayed  and  prayed  that  you 
would  be  restored  to  us." 

Then  she  began  to  cry  and  laugh  at  the  same  time  in  that 


40  iiettyZane 

strange  way  in  which  a  woman  relieves  a  heart  too  full  of  joy. 

"Yes,  Betty.  It  is  all  that  is  left  of  me,"  he  said,  running 
his  hand  caressingly  over  the  dark  head  that  lay  on  his  breast. 

"Betty,  you  must  not  excite  him,"  said  Colonel  Zane. 

"So  you  have  not  forgotten  me?"  whispered  Isaac. 

"No,  indeed,  Isaac.  I  have  never  forgotten,"  answered 
Betty,  softly.  "Only  last  night  I  spoke  of  you  and  wondered 
if  you  were  living.  And  now  you  are  here.  Oh,  I  am  so 
happy!"  The  quivering  lips  and  the  dark  eyes  bright  with 
tears  spoke  eloquently  of  her  joy. 

"Major,  will  you  tell  Captain  Boggs  to  come  over  after 
supper?  Isaac  will  be  able  to  talk  a  little  by  then,  and  he  has 
some  news  of  the  Indians,"  said  Colonel  Zane. 

"And  ask  the  young  man  who  saved  my  life  to  come  that 
I  may  thank  him,"  said  Isaac. 

"Saved  your  life?"  exclaimed  Betty,  turning  to  her  brother, 
in  surprise,  while  a  dark  red  flush  spread  over  her  face.  A 
humiliating  thought  had  flashed  into  her  mind. 

"Saved  his  life,  of  course,"  said  Colonel  Zane,  answering 
for  Isaac.  "Young  Clarke  pulled  him  out  of  the  river.  Didn't 
he  tell  you?" 

"No,"  said  Betty,  rather  faintly. 

"Well,  he  is  a  modest  young  fellow.  He  saved  Isaac's  life, 
there  is  no  doubt  of  that.  You  will  hear  all  about  it  after 
supper.  Don't  make  Isaac  talk  any  more  at  present." 

Betty  hid  her  face  on  Isaac's  shoulder  and  remained  quiet 
a  few  moments;  then,  rising,  she  kissed  his  cheek  and  went 
quietly  to  her  room.  Once  there  she  threw  herself  on  the  bed 
and  tried  to  think.  The  events  of  the  day,  coming  after  a 
long  string  of  monotonous,  wearying  days,  had  been  con 
fusing;  they  had  succeeded  one  another  in  such  rapid  order 
as  to  leave  no  time  for  reflection.  The  meeting  by  the  river 
with  the  rude  but  interesting  stranger;  the  shock  to  her  dig 
nity;  Lydia's  kindly  advice;  the  stranger  again,  this  time 
emerging  from  the  dark  depths  of  disgrace  into  the  luminous 
light  as  the  hero  of  her  brother's  rescue — all  these  thoughts 
jumbled  in  her  mind  making  it  difficult  for  her  to  think  clearly. 
But  after  a  time  one  thing  forced  itself  upon  her.  She  could 


BettyZane  41 

not  help  being  conscious  that  she  had  wronged  some  one  to 
whom  she  would  be  forever  indebted.  Nothing  could  alter 
that.  She  was  under  an  eternal  obligation  to  the  man  who 
had  saved  the  life  she  loved  best  on  earth.  She  had  unjustly 
scorned  and  insulted  the  man  to  whom  she  owed  the  life  of  her 
brother. 

Betty  was  passionate  and  quicktempered,  but  she  was  gen^ 
erous  and  tenderhearted  as  well,  and  when  she  realized  how  un 
kind  and  cruel  she  had  been  she  felt  very  miserable.  Her 
position  admitted  of  no  retreat.  No  matter  how  much  pride 
rebelled;  no  matter  how  much  she  disliked  to  retract  any 
thing  she  had  said,  she  knew  no  other  course  lay  open  to  her. 
She  would  have  to  apologize  to  Mr.  Clarke.  How  could  she? 
What  would  she  say?  She  remembered  how  cold  and  stern  his 
face  had  been  as  he  turned  from  her  to  Lydia.  Perplexed  and 
unhappy,  Betty  did  what  any  girl  in  her  position  would  have 
done :  she  resorted  to  the  consoling  and  unfailing  privilege  of 
her  sex — a  good  cry. 

When  she  became  composed  again  she  got  up  and  bathed 
her  hot  cheeks,  brushed  her  hair,  and  changed  her  gown  for 
A  becoming  one  of  white.  She  tied  a  red  ribbon  about  her 
throat  and  put  a  rosette  in  her  hair.  She  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  Indians.  By  the  time  Mrs.  Zane  called  her  for 
supper  she  had  her  mind  made  up  to  ask  Mr.  Clarke's  pardon, 
tell  him  she  was  sorry,  and  that  she  hoped  they  might  be 
friends. 

Isaac  Zane's  fame  had  spread  from  the  Potomac  to  Detroit 
and  Louisville.  Many  an  anxious  mother  on  the  border  used 
the  story  of  his  captivity  as  a  means  to  frighten  truant  young 
sters  who  had  evinced  a  love  for  running  wild  in  the  woods. 
The  evening  of  Isaac's  return  every  one  in  the  settlement 
called  to  welcome  home  the  wanderer,  in  spite  of  the  troubled 
tiroes  and  the  dark  cloud  hanging  over  them  they  made  the 
occasion  one  of  rejoicing. 

Old  John  Bennet,  the  biggest  and  merriest  man  in  the  col- 
0^3%  c^me  m  and  roared  his  appreciation  of  Isaac's  return. 
He  was  a  h\ige  man,  and  when  he  stalked  into  the  room  he 
made  the  floor  shake  with  bis  heavy  tread.  His  honest  face 


42  Betty    Zane 

expressed  his  pleasure  as  he  stood  over  Isaac  and  nearly 
crushed  his  hand. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Isaac.  Always  knew  you  would  come 
back.  Always  said  so.  There  are  not  enough  damn  redskins 
on  the  river  to  keep  you  prisoner." 

"I  think  they  manged  to  keep  him  long  enough,"  remarked 
Silas  Zane. 

"Well,  here  comes  the  hero,"  said  Colonel  Zane,  as  Clarke 
entered,  accompanied  by  Captain  Boggs,  Major  McColloch 
and  Jonathan.  "Any  sign  of  Wetzel  or  the  Indians?" 

Jonathan  had  not  yet  seen  his  brother,  and  he  went  over 
and  seized  Isaac's  hand  and  wrung  it  without  speaking. 

"There  are  no  Indians  on  this  side  of  the  river,"  said  Major 
McColloch,  in  answer  to  the  Colonel's  question. 

"Mr.  Clarke,  you  do  not  seem  impressed  with  your  impor 
tance,"  said  Colonel  Zane.  "My  sister  said  you  did  not  tell 
her  what  part  you  took  in  Isaac's  rescue." 

"I  hardly  deserve  all  the  credit,"  answered  Alfred.  "Your 
big  black  dog  merits  a  great  deal  of  it." 

"Well,  I  consider  your  first  day  at  the  fort  a  very  satis 
factory  one,  and  an  augury  of  that  fortune  you  came  west 
to  find." 

"How  are  you?"  said  Alfred,  going  up  to  the  couch  where 
Isaac  lav. 

V 

"I  am  doing  well,  thanks  to  you,"  said  Isaac,  warmly  shak 
ing  Alfred's  hand. 

"It  is  good  to  see  you  pulling  out  all  right,"  answered 
Alfred.  "I  tell  you,  I  feared  you  were  in  a  bad  way  wher 
I  got  you  out  of  the  water." 

Isaac  reclined  on  the  couch  with  his  head  and  shoulder 
propped  up  by  pillows.  He  was  the  handsomest  of  the 
brothers.  His  face  would  have  been  but  for  the  marks  of  pri 
vation,  singularly  like  Betty's;  the  same  low,  level  brows  and 
dark  eyes ;  the  same  mouth,  though  the  lips  were  stronger 
and  without  the  soft  curves  which  made  his  sister's  mouth  so 
sweet. 

Betty  appeared  at  the  door,  and  seeing  the  room  filled  with 
men  she  hesitated  a  moment  before  coming  forward.  In  her 


BettyZanc  43 

white  dress  she  made  such  a  dainty  picture  that  she  Deemed 
out  of  place  among  those  surroundings.  Alfred  Clarke,  for 
one,  thought  such  a  charming  vision  was  wasted  on  the  rough 
settlers,  every  one  of  whom  wore  a  faded  and  dirty  buckskin 
suit  and  a  belt  containing  a  knife  and  a  tomahawk.  Colonel 
Zane  stepped  up  to  Betty  and  placing  his  arm  around  her 
turned  toward  Clarke  with  pride  in  his  eyes. 

"Betty,  I  want  to  make  you  acquainted  with  the  hero  of 
the  hour,  Mr.  Alfred  Clarke.  This  is  my  sister." 

Betty  bowed  to  Alfred,  but  lowered  her  eyes  instantly  on 
encountering  the  young  man's  gaze. 

"I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Miss  Zane  twice  to 
day,"  said  Alfred. 

"Twice?"  asked  Colonel  Zane,  turning  to  Betty.  She  did 
not  answer,  but  disengaged  herself  from  his  arm  and  sat  down 
by  Isaac. 

"It  was  on  the  river  road  that  I  first  met  Miss  Zane,  although 
I  did  not  know  her  then,"  answered  Alfred.  "I  had  some 
difficulty  in  stopping  her  pony  from  going  to  Fort  Pitt,  or 
some  other  place  down  the  river." 

"Ha !  Ha !  Well,  I  know  she  rides  that  pony  pretty  hard," 
said  Colonel  Zane,  with  his  hearty  laugh.  "I'll  tell  you, 
Clarke,  we  have  some  riders  here  in  the  settlement.  Have  you 
heard  of  Major  McColloch's  leap  over  the  hill?" 

"I  have  heard  it  mentioned,  and  I  would  like  to  hear  the 
story,"  responded  Alfred.  "I  am  fond  of  horses,  and  think 
I  can  ride  a  little  myself.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
change  my  mind." 

"That  is  a  fine  animal  you  rode  from  Fort  Pitt,"  remarked 
the  Major.  "I  would  like  to  own  him." 

"Come,  draw  your  chairs  up  and  we'll  listen  to  Isaac's 
story,"  said  Colonel  Zane. 

"I  have  not  much  of  a  story  to  tell,"  said  Isaac,  in  a  voice 
still  weak  and  low.  "I  have  some  bad  news,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  but  I  shall  leave  that  for  the  last.  This  year,  if  it  had 
been  completed,  would  have  made  mv  ter».fh  year  as  a  captive 
of  the  Wyandots.  This  last  period  of  captivity,  which  has 
been  nearly  four  years,  I  have  not  been  ill-treated  and  have 


44  BettyZane 

enjoyed  more  comfort  than  any  of  you  can  imagine.  Prob 
ably  you  are  all  familiar  with  the  reason  for  my  long  cap 
tivity.  Because  of  the  interest  of  Myeerah,  the  Indian  Prin 
cess,  they  have  importuned  me  for  years  to  be  adopted  into 
the  tribe,  marry  the  White  Crane,  as  they  call  Myeerah,  and 
become  a  Wyandot  chief.  To  this  I  would  never  consent, 
though  I  have  been  careful  not  to  provoke  the  Indians.  I 
was  allowed  the  freedom  of  the  camp,  but  have  always  been 
closely  watched.  I  should  still  be  with  the  Indians  had  I  not 
suspected  that  Hamilton,  the  British  Governor,  had  formed  a 
plan  with  the  Hurons,  Shawnees,  Delawares.  and  other  tribes, 
to  strike  a  terrible  blow  at  the  wlu'tes  along  the  river.  For 
months  I  have  watched  the  Indians  preparing  for  an  expedi 
tion,  the  extent  of  which  they  had  never  before  undertaken. 
I  finally  learned  from  Myeerah  that  my  suspicions  were  well 
founded.  A  favorable  chance  to  escape  presented  and  I  took 
it  and  got  away.  I  outran  all  the  braves,  even  Arrowswift, 
the  Wyandot  runner,  who  shot  me  through  the  arm.  I  have 
had  a  hard  time  of  it  these  last  three  or  four  days,  living  on 
herbs  and  roots,  and  when  I  reached  the  river  I  was  ready  to 
drop.  I  pushed  a  log  into  the  water  and  started  to  drift  over. 
When  the  old  dog  saw  me  I  knew  I  was  safe  if  I  could  hold  on. 
Once,  when  the  young  man  pointed  his  gun  at  me,  I  thought 
it  was  all  over.  I  could  not  shout  very  loud." 

"Were  you  going  to  shoot?"  asked  Colonel  Zane  of  Clarke. 

"I  took  him  for  an  Indian,  but  fortunately  I  discovered  my 
mistake  in  time,"  answered  Alfred. 

"Are  the  Indians  on  the  way  here?"  asked  Jonathan. 

"That  I  cannot  say.  At  present  the  Wyandots  are  at  home. 
But  I  know  that  the  British  and  the  Indians  will  make  a  com 
bined  attack  on  the  settlements.  It  may  be  a  month,  or  a 
year,  but  it  is  coming." 

"And  Hamilton,  the  hair  buyer,  the  scalp  buyer,  is  behind 
the  plan,"  said  Colonel  Zane,  in  disgust. 

"The  Indians  have  their  wrongs.  I  sympathize  with  them 
in  many  ways.  We  ^*ive  robbed  them,  broken  faith  with  them, 
and  have  not  lived  up  to  the  treaties.  Pipe  and  Wingenund 
are  particularly  bitter  toward  the  whites.  I  understand  Corn- 


Betty    Zane  45 

planter  is  also.  He  would  give  anything  for  Jonathan's  scalp, 
and  I  believe  any  of  the  tribes  would  give  a  hundred  of  their 
best  warriors  for  'Black  Wrind,'  as  they  call  Lew  Wetzel." 

"Have  you  ever  seen  Red  Fox?"  asked  Jonathan,  who  was 
sitting  near  the  fire  and  as  usual  saying  but  little.  He  was  the 
wildest  and  most  untamable  of  all  the  Zanes.  Most  of  the 
time  he  spent  in  the  woods,  not  so  much  to  fight  Indians,  as 
Wetzel  did,  but  for  pure  love  of  outdoor  life.  At  home  he 
vras  thoughtful  and  silent. 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  him,"  answered  Isaac.  "He  is  a  Shawnee 
chief  and  one  of  the  fiercest  warriors  in  that  tribe  of  fighters. 
He  was  at  Indian-head,  which  is  the  name  of  one  of  the  Wyan- 
dot  villages,  when  I  visited  there  last,  and  he  had  two  hun 
dred  of  his  best  braves  with  him." 

"He  is  a  bad  Indian.  Wetzel  and  I  know  him.  He  swore 
he  would  hang  our  scalps  up  in  his  wigwam,"  said  Jonathan. 

"What  has  he  in  particular  against  you?"  asked  Colonel 
Zane.  "Of  course,  Wetzel  is  the  enemy  of  all  Indians." 

"Several  years  ago  Wetzel  and  I  were  on  a  hunt  down  the 
river  at  the  place  called  Girty's  Point,  where  we  fell  in  with 
the  tracks  of  five  Shawnees.  I  was  for  coming  home,  but 
Wetzel  would  not  hear  of  it.  We  trailed  the  Indians  and, 
coming  up  on  them  after  Hark,  we  tomahawked  them.  One 
of  them  got  away  crippled,  but  we  could  not  follow  him  be 
cause  we  discovered  that  they  had  a  white  girl  as  captive,  and 
one  of  the  red  devils,  thinking  we  were  a  rescuing  party,  had 
tomahawked  her.  She  was  not  quite  dead.  We  did  all  we 
could  to  save  her  life.  She  died  and  we  buried  her  on  the  spot. 
They  were  Red  Fox's  braves  and  were  on  their  way  to  his 
camp  with  the  prisoner.  A  year  or  so  afterwards  I  learned 
from  a  friendly  Indian  that  the  Shawnee  chief  had  sworn  to 
kill  us.  No  doubt  he  will  be  a  leader  in  the  coming  attack." 

"We  are  living  in  the  midst  of  terrible  times,"  remarked 
Colonel  Zane.  "Indeed,  these  are  the  times  that  try  men's 
souls,  hut  I  firmly  believe  the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  the 
redmen  will  be  driven  far  over  the  border." 

"Is  the  Indian  Princess  pretty?"  asked  Betty  of  Isaac. 

"Indeed  she  is,  Betty,  almost  as  beautiful  as  you  are?"  said 


46  Betty    Zane 

Isaac.  "She  is  tall  and  very  fair  for  an  Indian.  But  I  have 
something  to  tell  about  her  more  interesting  than  that.  Since 
I  have  been  with  the  Wyandots  this  last  time  I  have  discovered 
a  little  of  the  jealously  guarded  secret  of  Myeerah's  mother. 
When  Tarhe  and  his  band  of  Hurons  lived  in  Canada  their 
home  was  in  the  Muskoka  Lakes  region  on  the  Moon  river. 
The  old  warriors  tell  wonderful  stories  of  the  beauty  of  that 
country.  Tarhe  took  captive  some  French  travellers,  among 
them  a  woman  named  La  Durante.  She  had  a  beautiful  little 
girl.  The  prisoners,  except  this  little  girl,  were  released. 
When  she  grew  up  Tarhe  married  her.  Myeerah  is  her  child. 
Once  Tarhe  took  his  wife  to  Detroit  and  she  was  seen  there  by 
an  old  Frenchman  who  went  crazy  over  her  and  said  she  was 
his  child.  Tarhe  never  went  to  the  white  settlements  again. 
So  you  see,  Myeerah  is  from  a  great  French  family  on  her 
mother's  side,  as  this  old  Frenchman  was  probably  Chevalier 
La  Durante,  and  Myeerah's  grandfather." 

"I  would  love  to  see  her,  and  yet  I  hate  her.  What  an  odd 
name  she  has,"  said  Betty. 

"It  is  the  Indian  name  for  the  white  crane,  a  rare  and  beau 
tiful  bird.  I  never  saw  one.  The  name  has  been  celebrated 
among  the  Hurons  as  long  as  any  one  of  them  can  remember. 
The  Indians  call  her  the  White  Crane,  or  Walk-in-fche-Water, 
because  of  her  love  for  wading  in  the  stream." 

"I  think  we  have  made  Isaac  talk  enough  for  one  night," 
«aid  Colonel  Zane.  "He  is  tired  out.  Major,  tell  Isaac  and 
Betty,  and  Mr.  Clarke,  too,  of  your  jump  over  the  cliff." 

"I  have  heard  of  that  leap  from  the  Indians,"  said  Isaac. 

"Major,  from  what  hill  did  you  jump  your  horse?"  asked 
Alfred. 

"You  know  the  bare  rocky  bluff  that  stands  out  prominently 
on  the  hill  across  the  creek.  From  that  spot  Colonel  Zane 
first  saw  the  valley,  and  from  there  I  leaped  my  horse.  I  can 
never  convince  myself  that  it  really  happened.  Often  I  look 
np  at  that  cliff  in  doubt.  But  the  Indians  and  Colonel  Zane, 
Jonathan,  Wetzel  and  others  say  they  actually  saw  the  deed 
done,  so  I  must  accept  >t,"  said  Major  McColloch. 

"It  seems  incredible!"  said  Alfred.     "I  cannot  understand 


BcttyZane  4T 

how  a  man  or  horse  could  go  over  that  precipice  and  live." 
"That  is  what  we  all  say,"  responded  the  Colonel.    "I  sup 
pose  I  shall   Save  to  tell  the  story.     We  have  fighters  and 
makers  of  history  here,  but  few  talkers." 

"I  am  anxious  to  hear  it,"  answered  Clarke,  "and  I  am 
curious  to  see  this  man  Wetzel,  whose  fame  has  reached  as  far 
as  my  home,  way  down  in  Virginia." 

"You  will  have  your  wish  gratified  soon,  I  have  no  doubt," 
resumed  the  Colonel.    "Well,  now  for  the  story  of  McColloch's 
mad  ride  for  life  and  his  wonderful  leap  down  Wheeling  hill. 
A  year  ago,  when  the  fort  was  besieged  by  the  Indians,  the 
Major  got  through  the  lines  and  made  off  for  Short  Creek. 
He  returned  next  morning  with  forty  mounted  men.     They 
marched  boldly  up  to  the  gate,  and  all  succeeded  in  getting 
inside  save  the  gallant  Major,  who  had  waited  to  be  the  last 
man  to  go  in.     Finding  it  impossible  to  make  the  short  dis 
tance  without  going  under  the  fire  of  the  Indians,  who  had 
rushed  up  to  prevent  the  relief  party  from  entering  the  fort, 
he  wheeled  his  big  stallion,  and,  followed  by  the  yelling  band 
of  savages,  he  took  the  road  leading  around  back  of  the  fort 
to  the  top  of  the  bluff.     The  road  lay  along  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  and  I  saw  the  Major  turn  and  wave  his  rifle  at  us,  evi 
dently  with  the  desire  of  assuring  us  that  he  was  safe.     Sud 
denly,  on  the  very  summit  of  the  hill,  he  reined  in  his  horse 
as  if  undecided.     I  knew  in  an  instant  what  had  happened. 
The  Major  had  run  right,  into  the  returning  party  of  Indians, 
which  had  been  sent  out  to  intercept  our  reinforcements.     In 
a  moment  more  we  heard  the  exultant  yells  of  the  savages,  and 
saw  them  gliding  from  tree  to  tree,  slowly  lengthening  out 
their  line  and  surrounding  the  unfortunate  Major.    They  did 
not  fire  a  shot.    We  in  the  fort  were  stupefied  with  horror,  and 
stood  helplessly  with  our  useless  guns,  watching  and  wait 
ing  for  the  seemingly  inevitable  doom  of  our  comrade.     Not 
so  with  the  Major!    Knowing  that  he  was  a  marked  man  by 
the  Indians  and  feeling  that  any  death  was  preferable  to  the 
gauntlet,  the  knife,  the  stake  and  torch  of  the  merciless  sav 
age,  he  had  grasped  at  a  desperate  chance.    He  saw  his  enemies 
stealthily  darting  from  rock  to  tree,  and  tree  to  bush,  creep- 


48  BettyZane 

ing  through  the  brush,  and  slipping  closer  and  closer  every 
moment.  On  three  sides  were  his  hated  foes  and  on  the  re 
maining  side — the  abyss.  Without  a  moment 'P  \esitation  the 
intrepid  Major  spurred  his  horse  at  the  precipice.  Never 
shall  I  forget  that  thrilling  moment.  The  three  hundred 
savage^  were  silent  as  they  realized  the  Major's  intention. 
Those  in  the  fort  watched  with  staring  eyes.  A  few  bounds* 
and  the  noble  steed  reared  high  on  his  hind  legs.  .Outlined  by 
the  clear  blue  sky  the  magnificent  animal  stood  for  one  brief 
instant,  his  black  mane  flying  in  the  wind,  his  head  thrown 
up  and  his  front  hoofs  pawing  the  air  like  Marcus  Curtius' 
mailed  steed  of  old,  and  then  down  with  a  crash,  a  cloud  of 
dust,  and  the  crackling  of  pine  limbs.  A  long  yell  went  up 
from  the  Indians  below,  while  those  above  ran  to  the  edge  of 
the  cliff.  With  cries  of  wonder  and  baffled  vengeance  they 
gesticulated  toward  the  dark  ravine  into  which  horse  and  rider 
had  plunged  rather  than  wait  to  meet  a  more  cruel  death. 
The  precipice  at  this  point  is  over  three  hundred  feet  in 
height,  and  in  places  is  almost  perpendicular.  We  believed 
the  Major  to  be  lying  crushed  and  mangled  on  the  rocks. 
Imagine  our  frenzy  of  joy  when  we  saw  the  daring  soldier 
and  his  horse  dash  out  of  the  bushes  that  skirt  the  base  of  the 
cliff,  cross  the  creek,  and  come  galloping  to  the  fort  in  safety." 

"It  was  wonderful !  Wonderful !"  exclaimed  Isaac,  his 
eyes  glistening.  "No  wonder  the  Indians  call  you  the  'Fly 
ing  chief.' : 

"Had  the  Major  not  jumped  into  the  clump  of  pine  trees 
which  grow  thickly  some  thirty  feet  below  the  summit  he 
would  not  now  be  alive,"  said  Colonel  Zane.  "I  am  certain 
of  that.  Nevertheless  that  does  not  detract  from  +he  courage 
of  his  deed.  He  had  no  time  to  pick  out  the  best  place  to 
jump.  He  simply  took  his  one  chance,  and  came  out  all  right. 
That  leap  will  live  in  the  minds  of  men  as  long  as  yonder 
bluff  stands  a  monument  to  McColloch's  ride  for  life." 

Alfred  had  listened  with  intense  interest  to  the  Colonel's 
recital.  When  it  ended,  although  his  pulses  quickened  and 
his  soul  expanded  with  awe  and  reverence  for  the  hero  of  that 
tide,  he  sat  silent.  Alfred  honored  courage  in  a  man  more 


BettyZane  49 

than  any  other  quality.  He  marvelled  at  the  simplicity  of 
these  bordermen  who,  he  thought,  took  the  most  wonderful 
adventures  and  daring  escapes  as  a  matter  of  course,  a  com 
pulsory  part  of  their  daily  lives.  He  had  already,  in  one 
day,  had  more  excitement  than  had  ever  befallen  him ;  and 
was  beginning  to  believe  his  thirst  for  a  free  life  of  stirring 
action  would  be  quenched  long  before  he  had  learned  to  become 
useful  in  his  new  sphere.  During  the  remaining  half  hour 
of  his  call  on  his  lately  acquired  friends,  he  took  little  part  in 
the  conversation,  but  sat  quietly  watching  the  changeful  ex 
pressions  on  Betty's  face,  and  listening  to  Colonel  Zane's 
jokes.  When  he  rose  to  go  he  bade  his  host  good-night,  and 
expressed  a  wish  that  Isaac,  who  had  fallen  asleep,  might 
have  a  speedy  recovery.  He  turned  toward  the  door  to  find 
that  Betty  had  intercepted  him. 

"Mr.  Clarke,"  she  said,  extending  a  little  hand  that  trem 
bled  slightly.  "I  wish  to  say — that — I  want  to  say  that  my 
feelings  have  changed.  I  am  sorry  for  what  I  said  over  at 
Lydia's.  I  spoke  hastily  and  rudely.  You  have  saved  my 
brother's  life.  I  will  be  forever  grateful  to  you.  It  is  useless 
to  try  to  thank  you.  I — I  hope  we  may  be  friends." 

Alfred  found  it  desperately  hard  to  resist  that  low  voice, 
and  those  dnrk  eves  which  were  raised  shyly,  yet  bravely,  to 
his.  But  he  had  been  deeply  hurt.  He  pretended  not  to  see  the 
friendly  haiid  held  out  to  him,  and  his  voice  was  cold  when 
he  answered  her. 

"I  am  glad  to  have  been  of  some  service,"  he  said,  "but  I 
think  you  overrate  my  action.  Your  brother  would  not  have 
drowned,  I  am  sure.  You  owe  me  nothing.  Good-night." 

Betty  stood  still  one  moment  staring  at  the  door  through 
which  he  had  gone  before  she  realized  that  her  overtures  of 
friendship  had  been  politely,  but  coldly,  ignored.  She  had 
actually  been  snubbed.  The  impossible  had  happened  to 
Elizabeth  Zane.  Her  first  sensation  after  she  recovered  from 
her  momentary  bewilderment  was  one  of  amusement,  and  she 
laughed  in  a  constrained  manner;  but,  presently,  two  bright 
red  spots  appeared  in  her  cheeks,  and  she  looked  quickly 
around  to  see  if  any  of  the  others  had  noticed  the  incident. 


50  Betty    Zane 

None  of  them  had  been  paying  any  attention  to  her  and  she 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  It  was  bad  enough  to  be  snubbed 
•without  having  others  see  it.  That  would  have  been  too 
humiliating.  Her  eyes  flashed  fire  as  she  remembered  the 
disdain  in  Clarke's  face,  and  that  she  had  not  been  clever 
enough  to  see  it  in  time. 

"Tige,  come  here!"  called  Colonel  Zane.     "What  ails  thi 
dog?" 

The  dog  had  jumped  to  his  feet  and  ran  to  the  door,  where 
he  sniffed  at  the  crack  over  the  threshold.  His  aspect  was 
fierce  and  threatening.  He  uttered  low  growls  and  then  two 
short  barks.  Those  in  the  room  heard  a  soft  moccasined 
footfall  outside.  The  next  instant  the  door  opened  wide 
and  a  tall  figure  stood  disclosed. 

"Wetzel!"  exclaimed  Colonel  Zane.  A  hush  fell  on  the 
little  company  after  that  exclamation,  and  all  eyes  were  fas 
tened  on  the  new  comer. 

Well  did  the  stranger  merit  close  attention.  He  stalked, 
into  the  room,  leaned  his  long  rifle  against  the  mantelpiece 
and  spread  out  his  hands  to  the  fire.  He  was  clad  from  head 
to  foot  in  fringed  and  beaded  buckskin,  which  showed  evidence 
of  a  long  and  arduous  tramp.  It  was  torn  and  wet  and 
covered  with  mud.  He  was  a  magnificently  made  man,  six 
feet  in  height,  and  stood  straight  as  an  arrow.  His  wide 
shoulders,  and  his  muscular,  though  not  heavy,  limbs  denoted 
wonderful  strength  and  activity.  His  long  hair,  black  as  a 
raven's  wing,  hung  far  down  his  shoulders.  Presently  he 
turned  and  the  light  shone  on  a  remarkable  face.  So  calm 
and  cold  and  stern  it  was  that  it  seemed  chiselled  out  of 
marble.  The  most  striking  features  were  its  unusual  pallor? 
and  the  eyes,  which  were  coal  black,  and  piercing  as  the  dag 
ger's  point. 

"If  }^ou  have  any  bad  news  out  v/ith  it,"  cried  Colonel  Zane, 
impatiently. 

"No  need  fer  alarm,"  said  Wetzel.  He  smiled  slightly  as 
he  saw  Betty's  apprehensive  face.  "Don't  look  scared,  Betty. 
The  redskins  are  miles  away  and  goin'  fer  the  Kanawha 
settlement." 


CHAPTER  in. 

5 ANY  weeks  of  quiet  followed  tbe  events 
of  the  last  chapter.  The  settlers 
planted  their  corn,  harvested  their 
wheat  and  labored  in  the  fields  during 
the  whole  of  one  spring  and  summer 
without  hearing  the  dreaded  war  cry 
of  the  Indians.  Colonel  Zane,  who  had 
been  a  disbursing  officer  in  the  army 
of  Lord  Dunmore,  where  he  had  at 
tained  the  rank  of  Colonel,  visited  Fort  Pitt  during  the  sum 
mer  in  the  hope  of  increasing  the  number  of  soldiers  in  his 
garrison.  His  efforts  proved  fruitless.  He  returned  to  Fort 
Henry  by  way  of  the  river  with  several  pioneers,  who  with 
their  families  were  bound  for  Fort  Henry.  One  of  these 
pioneers  was  a  minister  who  worked  in  the  fields  every  week 
day  and  on  Sundays  preached  the  Gospel  to  those  who  gath 
ered  in  the  meeting  house. 

Alfred  Clarke  had  taken  up  his  permanent  abode  at  the 
fort,  where  he  had  been  installed  as  one  of  the  regular  garri 
son.  His  duties,  as  well  as  those  of  the  nine  other  members 
of  the  garrison,  were  light.  For  two  hours  out  of  the  twenty- 
four  he  was  on  guard.  Thus  he  had  ample  time  to  acquaint 
himself  with  the  settlers  and  their  families. 

Alfred  and  Isaac  had  now  become  firm  friends.  They  spent 
many  hours  fishing  in  the  river,  and  roaming  the  woods  in  the 
vicinity,  as  Colonel  Zane  would  not  allow  Isaac  to  stray  far 
from  the  fort.  Alfred  became  a  regular  visitor  at  Colonel 
Zane's  house.  He  saw  Betty  every  day,  but  as  yet,  nothing/ 
had  mended  the  breach  between  them.  They  were  civil  to 
each  other  when  chance  threw  them  together,  but  Betty  usu 
ally  left  the  room  on  some  pretext  soon  after  he  entered. 
Alfred  regretted  his  hasty  exhibition  of  resentment  and  would 
have  been  glad  to  establish  friendly  relations  with  her.  But 
she  would  not  give  him  an  opportunity.  She  avoided  him 
on  all  possible  occasions.  Though  Alfred  was  fast  succumb- 


52  BettyZane 

ing  to  the  charm  of  Beuy's  beautiful  face,  though  his  desire 
to  be  near  her  had  grown  well  nigh  resistless,  his  pride  had 
not  yet  broken  down.  Many  of  the  summer  evenings  found 
him  on  the  Colonel's  doorstep,  smoking  a  pipe,  or  playing 
with  the  children.  He  was  that  rare  and  best  company — a 
good  listener.  Although  he  laughed  at  Colonel  Zane's  stories, 
and  never  tired  of  hearing  of  Isaac's  experiences  among  thfe 
Indians,  it  is  probable  he  would  not  have  partaken  of  th& 
Colonel's  hospitality  nearly  so  often  had  it  not  been  that  he 
\iisually  saw  Betty,  and  if  he  got  only  a  glimpse  of  her  he 
went  away  satisfied.  On  Sundays  he  attended  the  services  at 
the  little  church,  and  listened  to  Betty's  sweet  voice  as  she 
led  the  singing. 

There  were  a  number  of  girls  at  the  fort  near  Betty's  age. 
With  all  of  these  Alfred  was  popular.  He  appeared  so  en 
tirely  different  from  the  usual  young  man  on  the  frontier 
that  he  was  more  than  welcome  everywhere.  Girls  in  the 
backwoods  are  much  the  same  as  girls  in  thickly  populated  and 
civilized  districts.  They  liked  his  manly  ways ;  his  frank  and 
pleasant  manners;  and  when  to  these  virtues  he  added  a  cer 
tain  deferential  regard,  a  courtliness  to  which  they  were  un 
accustomed,  they  were  all  the  better  pleased.  He  paid  the 
young  women  little  attentions,  such  as  calling  on  them,  taking 
them  to  parties  ana  o*it  driving,  but  there  was  not  one  of 
them  who  could  think  that  she,  in  particular,  interested  him. 

The  girls  noticed,  however,  that  he  never  approached  Betty 
after  service,  or  on  any  occasion,  and  while  it  caused  some 
wonder  and  gossip  among  them,  for  Betty  enjoyed  the  dis 
tinction  of  being  the  belle  of  the  border,  they  were  secretly 
pleased.  Little  hints  and  knowing  smiles,  with  which  girls 
are  so  skillful,  made  known  to  Betty  all  of  this,  and,  although 
she  was  apparently  indifferent,  it  hurt  her  sensitive  feelings. 
It  had  the  effect  of  making  her  believe  she  hated  the  cause 
of  it  more  than  ever. 

What  would  have  happened  had  things  gone  on  in  this 
way,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say ;  probably  had  not  a  meddling 
Fate  decided  to  take  a  hand  in  the  game,  Betty  would  have 
continued  to  think  she  hated  Alfred,  and  I  would  never  h«.ve 


BettyZane  53 

had  occasion  to  write  his  story;  but  Fate  did  interfere,  and, 
one  day  in  the  early  fall,  brought  about  an  incident  which 
changed  the  whole  world  for  the  two  young  people. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  an  Indian  summer  day — in  that 
most  beautiful  time  of  all  the  year — and  Betty,  accompanied 
by  her  dog,  had  wandered  up  the  hillside  into  the  woods. 
From  the  hilltop  the  broad  river  could  be  seen  winding  away 
in  the  distance,  and  a  soft,  bluish,  smoky  haze  hung  over  the 
water.  The  forest  seemed  to  be  on  fire.  The  yellow  leaves 
of  the  poplars,  the  brown  of  the  white  and  black  oaks,  the  red 
and  purple  of  the  maples,  and  the  green  of  the  pines  and  hem 
locks  flamed  in  a  glorious  blaze  of  color.  A  stillness,  which 
was  only  broken  now  and  then  by  the  twittering  of  birds  utter 
ing  the  plaintive  nobes  peculiar  to  them  in  the  autumn  as  they 
band  together  before  their  pilgrimage  to  the  far  south,  per 
vaded  the  forest. 

Betty  loved  the  woods,  and  she  knew  all  the  trees.  She 
could  tell  their  names  by  the  bark  or  the  shape  of  the  leaves. 
The  giant  black  oak,  with  its  smooth  shiny  bark  and  sturdy 
limbs,  the  chestnut  with  its  rugged,  seamed  sides  and  bristling 
burrs,  the  hickory  with  its  lofty  height  and  curled  shelling 
bark,  were  all  well  known  and  well  loved  by  Betty.  Many 
times  had  she  wondered  at  the  trembling,  quivering  leaves  of 
the  aspen,  and  the  foliage  of  the  silver-leaf  as  it  glinted  in 
the  sun.  To-day,  especially,  as  she  walked  through  the 
woods,  did  their  beauty  appeal  to  her.  In  the  little  sunny 
patches  of  clearing  which  were  scattered  here  and  there  in 
the  grove,  great  clusters  of  goldenrod  grew  profusely.  The 
golden  heads  swayed  gracefully  on  the  long  stems,,  Betty 
gathered  a  few  sprigs  and  added  to  them  a  bunch  of  warmly 
tinted  m^ple  leaves. 

The  chestnut  burrs  were  opening.  As  Betty  mounted  a 
little  rocky  eminence  and  reached  out  for  a  limb  of  a  chestnut 
tree,  she  lost  her  footing  and  fell.  Her  right  foot  had  twisted 
under  her  as  she  went  down,  and  when  a  sharp  pain  shot 
through  it  she  was  unable  to  repress  a  cry.  She  got  up,  ten 
derly  placed  the  foot  on  the  ground  and  tried  her  weight 
on  it,  which  caused  acute  pain.  She  unlaced  and  removed 


54s  BcttyZane 

her  moccasin  to  find  that  her  ankle  had  commenced  to  swell. 
Assured  that  she  had  sprained  it,  and  aware  of  the  serious 
consequences  of  an  injury  of  that  nature,  she  felt  greatly  dis 
tressed.  Another  effort  to  place  her  foot  on  the  ground  and 
bear  her  weight  on  it  caused  such  severe  pain  that  she  was 
compelled  to  give  up  the  attempt.  Sinking  down  hy  the 
trunk  of  the  tree  and  leaning  her  head  against  it  she  tried 
to  think  of  a  way  out  of  her  difficulty. 

The  fort,  which  she  could  plainly  see,  seemed  a  long  dis 
tance  off,  although  it  was  only  a  little  way  down  the  grassy 
slope.  She  looked  and  looked,  but  not  a  person  was  to  be 
seen.  She  called  to  Tige.  She  remembered  that  he  had 
been  chasing  a  squirrel  a  short  while  ago,  but  now  there  was 
no  sign  of  him.  He  did  not  come  at  her  call.  How  annoy 
ing!  If  Tige  were  only  there  she  could  have  sent  him  for 
help.  She  shouted  several  times,  but  the  distance  was  too 
great  for  her  voice  to  carry  to  the  fort.  The  mocking  echo 
of  her  call  came  back  from  the  bluff  that  rose  to  her  left. 
Betty  now  began  to  be  alarmed  in  earnest,  and  the  tears 
started  to  roll  down  her  cheeks.  The  throbbing  pain  in  her 
ankle,  the  dread  of  having  to  remain  out  in  that  lonesome 
forest  after  dark,  and  the  fear  that  she  miprht  not  be  found 
for  hours,  caused  Betty's  usually  brave  spirit  to  falter;  she 
was  weeping  unreservedly. 

In  reality  she  had  been  there  only  a  few  minutes — although 
they  seemed  hours  to  her — when  she  heard  the  light  tread  of 
moccasined  feet  on  the  moss  behind  her.  Starting  up  with  a 
cry  of  joy  she  turned  and  looked  up  into  the  astomshed  face 
cf  Alfred  Clarke. 

Returning  from  a  hunt  back  in  the  woods  he  had  walked 
up  to  her  before  being  aware  of  her  presence.  In  a  single 
glance  he  saw  the  wildflowers  scattered  beside  her,  the  little 
moccasin  turned  inside  out,  the  woebegone,  tearstained  face, 
and  he  knew  Betty  had  come  to  grief. 

Confused  and  vexed,  Betty  sank  back  at  the  foot  of  the 
tree.  It  is  probable  she  would  have  encountered  Girty  or  a 
member  of  his  band  of  redmen,  rather  than  have  this  young 
man  find  her  in  this  predicament.  It  provoked  her  to  think 


Betty    Zane  55 

that  of  all  the  people  at  the  fort  it  should  be  the  only  one 
she  could  not  welcome  who  should  find  her  in  such  a  sad  plight. 

"Why,  Miss  Zane !"  he  exclaimed,  after  a  moment  of  hesita 
tion.  "What  in  the  world  has  happened?  Have  you  been 
hurt?  May  I  help  you?" 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  Betty,  bravely,  as  she  gathered  up 
her  flowers  and  the  moccasin  and  rose  slowly  to  her  feet. 
"Thank  you,  but  you  need  not  wait." 

The  cold  words  nettled  Alfred  and  he  was  in  the  act  of 
turning  away  from  her  when  he  caught,  for  the  fleetest  part 
of  a  second,  the  full  gaze  of  her  eyes.  He  stopped  short.  A 
closer  scrutiny  of  her  face  convinced  him  that  she  was  suffer 
ing  and  endeavoring  with  all  her  strength  to  conceal  it. 

"But  I  will  wait.  I  think  you  have  hurt  yourself.  Lean 
upon  my  arm,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"Please  let  me  help  }rou,"  he  continued,  going  nearer  to  her. 

But  Betty  refused  his  assistance.  She  would  not  even 
allow  him  to  take  the  goldenrod  from  her  arms.  After  a  few 
hesitating  steps  she  paused  and  lifted  her  foot  from  the 
ground. 

"Here,  you  must  not  try  to  walk  a  step  farther,"  he  said, 
resolutely,  noting  how  white  she  had  suddenly  become.  "You 
have  sprained  your  ankle  and  are  needlessly  torturing  your 
self.  Please  let  me  carry  you?" 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no!"  cried  Betty,  in  evident  distress.  "I  will 
manage.  It  is  not  so — very — far." 

She  resumed  the  slow  and  painful  walking,  but  she  had 
taken  only  a  few  steps  when  she  stopped  again  and  this  time 
a  low  moan  issued  from  her  lips.  She  swayed  slightly  back 
ward  and  if  Alfred  had  not  dropped  his  rifle  and  caught  her 
she  would  have  fallen. 

"Will  you — plea.se — go — for  some  one?"  she  whispered 
faintly,  at  the  same  time  pushing  him  away. 

"How  absurd !"  burst  out  Alfred,  indignantly.  "Am  I, 
then,  so  distasteful  to  you  that  you  would  rather  wait  here 
and  suffer  a  half  hour  longer  while  I  go  for  assistance?  It 
is  only  common  courtesv  on  my  part.  I  do  not  want  to  carry 
you.  I  think  }rou  would  be  quite  heavy." 


56  Betty    Zan* 

He  said  this  in  a  hard,  bitter  tone,  deeply  hurt  that  she 
would  not  accept  even  a  little  kindness  from  him.  He  looked 
away  from  her  and  waited.  Presently  a  soft,  half -smothered 
sob  came  from  Betty  and  it  expressed  such  utter  wretchedness 
that  his  heart  melted.  After  all  she  was  only  a  child.  He 
turned  to  see  the  tears  running  down  her  cheeks,  and  with  a 
suppressed  imprecation  upon  the  wilfulness  of  young  women 
in  general,  and  this  one  in  particular,  he  stepped  forward 
and  before  she  could  offer  any  resistance,  he  had  taken  her 
up  in  his  arms,  goldenrod  and  all,  and  had  started  off  at  a 
rapid  walk  toward  the  fort. 

Betty  cried  out  in  angry  surprise,  struggled  violently  for 
a  moment,  and  then,  as  suddenly,  lay  quietly  in  his  arms.  His 
anger  changed  to  self-reproach  as  he  realized  what  a  light 
burden  she  made.  He  looked  down  at  the  dark  head  lying  on 
his  shoulder.  Her  face  was  hidden  by  the  dusky  rippling 
hair,  which  tumbled  over  his  breast,  brushed  against  his  cheek, 
and  blew  across  his  lips.  The  touch  of  those  fragrant  tresses 
was  a  soft  caress.  Almost  unconsciously  he  pressed  her  closer 
to  his  heart.  And  as  a  sweet  mad  longing  grew  upon  him  he 
was  blind  to  all  save  that  he  held  her  in  his  arms,  that  uncer 
tainty  was  gone  forever,  and  that  he  loved  her.  With  these 
thoughts  running  riot  in  his  brain  he  carried  her  down  the 
hill  to  Colonel  Zane's  house. 

The  negro,  Sam,  who  came  out  of  the  kitchen,  dropped  the 
bucket  he  hnd  in  his  hand  and  ran  into  the  house  when  he 
saw  them.  When  Alfred  reached  the  gate  Colonel  Zane  and 
Isaac  were  hurrying  out  to  meet  him. 

"For  Heaven's  sake !  What  has  happened  ?  Is  she  badly 
hurt?  I  have  always  looked  for  this,"  said  the  Colonel,  ex 
citedly. 

"You  need  not  look  so  alarmed,"  answered  Alfred.  "She 
has  only  sprained  her  ankle,  and  trying  to  walk  afterward 
hurt  her  so  badly  that  she  became  faint  and  I  had  to  carry 
her," 

"Dear  me,  is  that  all?"  said  Mrs.  Zane,  who  had  also  come 
out.  "We  were  terribly  frightened.  Sam  came  running  into 


Betty    Zane  51 

the  house  with  some  kind  c  f  a  wild  story.  Said  he  knew  j-ou 
would  be  the  death  of  Betty." 

"How  ridiculous !  Colonel  Zane,  that  servant  of  yours  never 
fails  to  say  something  against  me,"  said  Alfred,  as  he  carried 
Betty  into  the  house. 

"He  doesn't  like  you.  But  you  need  not  mind  Sam.  He 
is  getting  old  and  we  humor  him,  perhaps  too  much.  We 
are  certainly  indebted  to  you,"  returned  the  Colonel. 

Betty  was  laid  on  the  couch  and  consigned  to  the  skillful 
hands  of  Mrs.  Zane,  who  pronounced  the  injury  a  bad  sprain* 

"Well,  Betty,  this  will  keep  you  quiet  for  a  few  days,"  said 
she,  with  a  touch  of  humor,  as  she  gently  felt  the  swollen  ankle. 

"Alfred,  you  have  been  our  good  angel  so  often  that  I  don't 

see  how  we  shall  ever  reward  you,"  said  Isaac  to  Alfred. 

t>      * 

"Oh,  that  time  will  come.  Don't  worry  about  that,"  said 
Alfred,  jestingly,  and  then,  turning  to  the  others  he  con 
tinued,  earnestly.  "I  will  apologize  for  the  manner  in  which 
I  disregarded  Miss  Zane's  wish  not  to  help  her.  I  am  sure  I 
could  do  no  less.  I  believe  my  rudeness  has  spaced  her  con* 
siderable  suffering." 

"What  did  he  mean,  Betts?"  asked  Isaac,  going-  back  to  his 
sister  after  he  had  closed  the  door.  ''Didn't  you  want  him 
to  help  you?" 

Betty  did  not  answer.  She  sat  on  the  couch  while  Mrs. 
Zane  held  the  little  bare  foot  and  slowly  poured  the  hot  water 
over  the  swollen  and  discolored  ankle.  Betty's  lips  were  pale* 
She  winced  every  time  Mrs.  Zane  touched  her  f«ct,  but  as 
yet  she  had  not  uttered  even  a  sigh. 

"Betty,  does  it  hurt  much?"  asked  Isaac. 

"Hurt?  Do  you  think  I  am  made  of  wood?  Of  course  it 
hurts,"  retorted  Betty.  "That  water  is  so  hot.  Bessie,  will 
not  cold  water  do  as  well?" 

"I  am  sorry.  I  won't  tease  any  more,"  said  Isaax*,  taking 
his  sister's  hand.  "I'll  tell  you  what,  Betty,  we  owe  Alfred 
Clarke  a  great  deal,  you  and  I.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  some* 
thing  so  you  will  know  how  much  more  you  owe  him.  Do 
you  remember  last  month  when  that  red  heifer  of  yours  got 
away.  Well,  Clarke  chased  her  all  day  and  finally  caught  he* 


58  Betty    Zanc 

en  the  woods.  He  asked  me  to  say  I  had  caught  her.  Some 
how  or  other  he  seems  to  be  afraid  of  you.  I  wish  you  and 
he  would  be  good  friends.  He  is  a  mighty  fine  fellow.** 

In  spite  of  the  pain  Betty  was  suffering  a  bright  blush  suf* 
fused  her  face  at  the  words  of  her  brother,  who,  blind  as 
brothers  are  in  regard  to  their  own  sisters,  went  on  praising 
his  friend. 

Betty  was  confined  t<  the  house  a  week  or  more  and  during 
this  enforced  idleness  he  had  ample  time  for  reflection  and 
opportunity  to  inquire  into  the  perplexed  state  of  her  mind. 

The  small  room,  ~wh\ch  Betty  called  her  own,  faced  the  river 
and  fort.  Most  of  the  day  she  lay  by  the  window  trying  to 
read  her  favorite  books,  but  often  she  gazed  out  on  the  quiet 
scene,  the  rolling  river,  the  everchanging  trees  and  the  pas 
tures  in  which  the  rea  and  white  cows  grazed  peacefully;  or 
she  would  watch  with  idle,  dreamy  eyes  the  flight  of  the  crow? 
over  the  hills,  and  the  graceful  motion  of  the  hawk  as  he  sailed 
around  and  around  in  the  azure  sky,  looking  like  a  white  sail 
far  out  on  a  summer  sea, 

But  Betty's  mind  was  at  variance  with  this  peaceful  scene- 
The  consciousness  of  a  change,  which  she  could  not  readily  de- 
fine,  in  her  feelings  toward  Alfred  Clarke,  vexed  and  irritatea 
her.  Why  did  she  think  of  him  so  often?  True,  he  had 
saved  her  brother's  life.  Still  she  was  compelled  to  admit  to 
herself  that  this  was  not  the  reason.  Try  as  she  would,  she 
could  not  banish  the  thought  of  him.  Over  and  over  again, 
a  thousand  times,  came  the  recollection  of  that  moment  when 
he  had  taken  her  up  in  his  arms  as  though  she  were  a  chile? 
Some  vague  feeling  stirred  in  her  heart  as  she  rememberea 
the  strong  yet  gentle  clasp  of  his  arms. 

Several  times  from  her  window  she  had  seen  him  coming 
across  the  square  between  the  fort  and  her  brother's  house, 
and  womanlike,  unseen  herself,  she  had  watched  him.  How 
erect  was  his  carriage.  How  pleasant  his  deep  voice  sounded 
as  she  heard  him  talking  to  her  brother.  Day  by  day,  as  her 
ankle  grew  stronger  and  she  knew  she  could  not  remain  much 
ionger  in  her  room,  she  dreaded  more  and  more  the  thought 
af  meeting  him.  She  could  not  understand  herself;  she  had 


BettyZane  5'^ 

strange  dreams;  she  cried  seemingly  without  the  slightest 
cause,  and  she  was  restless  and  unhappy.  Finally  she  frrew 
angry  and  scolded  herself.  She  said  she  was  silly  and  senti 
mental.  This  had  the  effect  of  making  her  bolder,  but  it  did 
not  quiet  her  unrest.  Betty  did  not  know  that  the  little  blind 
God,  who  steals  unawares  on  his  victim,  had  marked  her  for 
his  own,  and  that  all  this  sweet  perplexity  was  the  unconscious 
awakening  of  the  heart. 

One  afternoon,  near  the  end  of  Betty's  siege  indoors,  two 
of  her  friends,  Lydia  Boggs  and  Alice  Reynolds,  called  to 
see  her. 

Alice  had  bright  blue  eyes,  and  her  nut  brown  hair  hung  in 
irebellious  curls  around  her  demure  and  pretty  face.  An 
adorable  dimple  lay  hidden  in  her  rosy  cheek  and  flashed  into 
light  with  her  smiles. 

"Betty,  you  are  a  lazy  thing!"  exclaimed  Lydia.  "Lying 
here  all  day  long  doing  nothing  but  gaze  out  of  the  window." 

"Girls,  I  am  glad  you  came  over,"  said  Betty.  "I  am  blue. 
Perhaps  you  will  cheer  me  up." 

"Betty  needs  some  one  of  the  sterner  sex  to  cheer  her,"  said 
Alice,  mischievously,  her  eyes  twinkling.  "Don't  you  think 
so,  Lydia?" 

"Of  course,"  answered  Lydia.     "When  I  get  blue " 

"Please  spare  me,"  interrupted  Betty,  holding  up  her  hands 
in  protest.  "I  have  not  a  single  doubt  that  your  masculine 
remedies  are  sufficient  for  all  your  ills.  Girls  who  have  lost 
their  interest  in  the  old  pleasures,  who  spend  their  spare  time 
in  making  linen  and  quilts,  and  who  have  sunk  their  very  per 
sonalities  in  a  great  big  tyrant  of  a  man,  are  not  liable  to  get 
blue.  They  are  afraid  he  may  see  a  tear  or  a  frown.  But* 
thank  goodness,  I  have  not  yet  reached  that  stage." 

"Oh,  Betty  Zane!  Just  you  wait!  Wait.1"  exclaimed 
Lydia,  shaking  her  finger  at  Betty.  "Your  turn  is  coming. 
When  it  does  do  not  expect  any  mercy  from  us,  for  you  shall 
never  get  it." 

"Unfortunately,  you  and  Alice  have  monopolized  the  atten 
tions  of  the  only  two  eligible  young  men  at  the  fort,"  saifl 
Betty,  with  a  lautrb- 


51  Betty    Zane 

*\Nonsense.  11; ere  arc  plenty  of  young  men  all  eager  for 
;four  favor,  }^ou  little  coquette,'1'  answered  Lydia.  "Harry 
Martin,  Will  Mttzer,  Captain  Swearengen,  of  Short  Creek, 
and  others  too  numerous  to  count.  Look  at  Lew  Wetzel  and 
Billy  Bennet." 

"Lew  cares  for  nothing  except  hunting  Indians  and  Billy 
is  only  a  boy,"  saij  Betty. 

"Well,  have  it  your  own  way,**  said  Lydia.  "Only  this, 
I  know  Billy  adores  you,  for  he  told  me  so,  and  a  better  lad 
never  lived.'* 

"Lyde,  you  forget,  to  include  one  other  among  those  pros 
trate  before  Betty's  charms,"  said  Alice. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  mean  Mr.  Clarke.  To  be  sure,  I  had  for 
gotten  him,"  answered  Lydia.  "How  odd  that  he  should  be 
the  one  to  find  you  the  day  you  hurt  your  foot.  Was  it  an 
accident?" 

"Of  course.     I  slipped  cff  the  bank,"  said  Betty. 

"No,  no.  I  don't  mean  that.  Was  his  finding  you  an 
accident?" 

"Do  you  imagine  I  waylaid  Mr.  Clarke,  and  then  sprained 
my  ankle  on  purpose?"  said  Betty,  who  began  to  look  dan 
gerous. 

"Certainly  not  that;  only  it  seems  so  odd  that  he  should 
be  the  one  to  rescue  all  the  damsels  in  distress.  Day  before 
yesterday  he  stopped  a  runaway  horse,  and  saved  Nell  Metzer, 
^vho  was  in  the  wagon,  a  severe  shaking  up,  if  not  something 
more  serioue.  She  is  desperately  in  love  with  him.  She  told 
me  Mr.  Clarke " 

"I  really  do  not  care  to  hear  about  it,"  interrupted  Betty. 

;*But,  Betty,  tell  us.  Wasn't  it  dreadful,  his  carrying 
you?"  asked  Alice,  with  a  sly  glance  at  Betty.  "You  know 
you  are  so — so  prudish,  one  may  say.  Did  he  take  you  in 
liis  arms?  It  must  have  been  very  embarrassing  for  you,  con 
sidering  your  dislike  of  Mr.  Clarke,  and  he  so  much  in  love 
with *" 

"You  hateful  girls,"  cried  Betty,  throwing  a  pillow  at 
Alice,  who  just  managed  to  dodge  it.  "I  wish  you  would 

home." 


BettyZane  61 


'Never  mind,  Betty.  We  will  not  tease  anymore,"  said 
Lydia,  putting  her  arm  around  Betty.  "Come,  Alice,  we  will 
tell  Betty  you  have  named  the  day  for  your  wadding.  Sect 

She  is  all  eyes  now.*' 

********** 

The  young  people  of  the  frontier  settlements  were  usually 
married  before  they  were  twenty.  This  was  owing  to  the  fact 
:hat  there  was  little  distinction  of  rank  and  family  pride. 
The  object  of  the  pioneers  in  moving  West  was,  of  course,  to 
better  their  condition ;  but,  the  realization  of  their  dependence 
on  one  another,  the  common  cause  of  their  labors,  and  th« 
terrible  dangers  to  which  they  were  continually  exposed, 
brought  them  together  as  one  large  family. 

Therefore,  early  love  affairs  were  encouraged,  not  frowned 
upon  as  they  are  to-day — and  they  usually  resulted  in  early 
marriages. 

However,  do  not  let  it  be  imagined  thrit  the  path  of  the 
youthful  swain  was  strewn  with  flowers.  Courting  or  "spark 
ing"  his  sweetheart  had  a  painful  as  well  as  a  joyous  side. 
Many  and  varied  were  the  tricks  played  on  the  fortunate  love? 
by  the  gallants  who  had  vied  with  him  for  the  favor  of  the 
maid.  Brave,  indeed,  he  who  won  her.  If  he  marched  up  to 
her  home  in  the  early  evening  he  was  made  the  object  of 
innumerable  jests,  even  the  }roung  lady's  family  indulging  in 
and  enjoying  the  banter.  Later,  when  he  came  out  of  the 
door,  it  was  more  than  likely  that,  if  it  were  winter,  he  would 
be  met  by  a  volley  of  water  soaked  snowballs,  or  big  buckets 
of  Jcewater,  or  a  mountain  of  snow  shoved  off  the  roof  by  some 
trickster,  who  had  waited  patiently  for  such  an  opportunity. 
On  summer  nights  his  horse  would  be  stolen,  led  far  into  tli€ 
'woods  and  tied,  or  the  wheels  of  his  wagon  would  be  -taken 
off  and  hidden,  leaving  him  to  walk  home.  Usually  the  suc 
cessful  lover,  and  especially  if  he  lived  at  a  distance,  would 
make  his  way  only  once  a  week  and  then  late  at  night  to  the 
home  of  his  betrothed.  Silently,  like  a  thief  in  the  dark,  he 
would  crawl  through  the  grass  and  shrubs  until  beneath  her 
window.  At  a  low  signal,  prearranged  between  them,  she 
would  slip  to  the  door  and  let  him  in  without  dist*ui>:*ig  W* 


82  BettyZane 

parents.  Fearing  to  make  a  light,  and  perhaps  welcoming 
that  excuse  to  enjoy  the  darkness  beloved  by  sweethearts,  they 
would  sit  quietly,  whispering  low,  until  the  brightening  in  the 
east  betokened  the  break  of  day,  and  then  he  was  off,  happy 
and  lighthearted,  to  his  labors. 

A  wedding  was  looked  forward  to  with  much  pleasure  by 
old  and  young.  Practically,  it  meant  the  only  gathering  of 
the  settlers  which  was  not  accompanied  by  the  work  of  reap 
ing  the  harvest,  building  a  cabin,  planning  an  expedition  to 
relieve  some  distant  settlement,  or  a  defense  for  themselves. 
For  all,  it  meant  a  rollicking  good  time;  to  the  old  people  a 
feast,  and  the  looking  on  at  the  merriment  of  their  children — 
to  the  young  folk,  a  pleasing  break  in  the  monotony  of  their 
bus}''  lives,  a  day  given  up  to  fun  and  gossip,  a  day  of 
romance,  a  wedding,  and  best  of  all,  a  dance.  Therefore, 
Alice  Reynold's  wedding  proved  a  great  event  to  the  inhabi 
tants  of  Fort  Henry. 

The  day  dawned  bright  and  clear.  The  sun,  rising  like  a 
ball  of  red  gold,  cast  its  yellow  beams  ever  the  bare,  brown 
hills,  shining  on  the  cabin  roofs  white  with  frost,  and  making 
the  d°licate  weblike  coat  of  ice  on  the  river  sparkle  as  if  it 
had  been  sprinkled  with  powdered  diamonds.  William  Mar 
tin,  the  groom,  and  his  attendants,  met  at  an  appointed 
time  to  celebrate  an  old  time-honored  custom  which  always 
took  place  before  the  party  started  for  the  house  of  the 
bride.  This  performance  was  called  "the  race  for  the 
bottle." 

A  number  of  young  men,  selected  by  the  groom,  were 
asked  to  take  part  in  this  race,  which  was  to  be  run  over  as 
rough  and  dangerous  a  track  as  could  be  found.  The  worst 
the  road,  the  more  ditches,  bogs,  trees,  stumps,,  brush,  in  fact, 
the  more  obstacles  of  every  kind,  the  better,  as  all  these  af 
forded  opportunity  for  daring  and  expert  horsemanship. 
The  English  fox  race,  now  famous  on  three  continents,  while 
it  involves  risk  and  is  sometimes  dangerous,  cannot,  in  the 
sense  of  hazard  to  life  and  limb,  be  compared  to  this  race  for 
the  bottle. 

On  this  day  the  run  was  not  less  exciting  than  usual.     The 


Betty    Zane  63 

horses  were  placed  as  nearly  abreast  as  possible  and  the  starter 
gave  an  Indian  yell.  Then  followed  the  cracking  of  whips, 
the  furious  pounding  of  heavy  hoofs,  the  commands  of  the 
contestants,  and  the  yells  of  the  onlookers.  Away  they  went 
at  a  mad  pace  down  the  road.  The  course  extended  a  mile 
straight  away  down  the  creek  bottom.  The  first  hundred 
yards  the  horses  were  bunched.  At  the  ditch  be}rond  the 
creek  bridge  a  beautiful,  clean  limbed  animal  darted  from 
among  the  furiously  galloping  horses  and  sailed  over  the 
deep  furrow  like  a  bird.  All  recognized  the  rider  as  Alfred 
Clarke  on  his  black  thoroughbred.  Close  behind  was  George 
Martin  mounted  on  a  large  roan  of  powerful  frame  and  long 
stride.  Through  the  willows  they  dashed,  over  logs  and 
brush  heaps,  up  the  little  ridges  of  rising  ground,  and  down 
the  shallow  crullies,  unheeding  the  stinging  branches  and  the 
splashing  water.  Half  the  distance  covered  and  Alfred 
turned,  to  find  the  roan  close  behind.  On  a  level  road  he 
would  have  laughed  at  the  attempt  of  that  horse  to  keep  up 
with  his  racer,  but  he  was  beginning  to  fear  that  the  strong 
limbed  stallion  deserved  his  reputation.  Directly  before  them 
rose  a  pile  of  logs  and  matted  brush,  placed  there  by  the  dare 
devil  settlers  who  had  mapped  out  the  route.  It  was  too  high 
for  any  horse  to  be  put  at.  With  pale  cheek  and  clinched  teeth 
Alfred  touched  the  spurs  to  Roger  and  then  threw  himself 
forward.  The  gallant  beast  responded  nobly.  Up,  up,  up 
he  rose,  clearing  all  but  the  topmost  branches.  Alfred  turned 
again  and  saw  the  giant  roan  make  the  leap  without  touching 
a  twig.  The  next  instant  Roger  went  splash  into  a  swamp. 
He  sank  to  his  knees  in  the  soft  black  soil.  He  could  move 
but  one  foot  at  a  time,  and  Alfred  saw  at  a  glance  he  had  won 
the  race.  The  great  weight  of  the  roan  handicapped  him 
here.  When  Alfred  reached  the  other  side  of  the  bog,  where 
the  bottle  was  swinging  from  a  branch  of  a  tree,  his  rival's 
horse  was  floundering  hopelessly  in  the  middle  of  the  treacher 
ous  mire.  The  remaining  three  horsemen,  who  had  come  up 
by  this  time,  seeing  that  it  would  be  useless  to  attempt  further 
efforts,  had  drawn  up  on  the  bank.  With  friendly  shouts  to 
Clarke,  they  acknowledged  themselves  beaten.  There  were 


64  Batty    Zane 

no  judges  required  for  this  race,  because  the  man  who  reached 
the  bottle  first  won  it. 

The  five  men  returned  to  the  starting  point,  where  the 
victor  was  greeted  by  loud  whoops.  The  groom  got  the  first 
drink  from  the  bottle,  then  came  the  attendants,  and  others 
in  order,  after  which  the  bottle  was  put  away  to  be  kept  as 
a  memento  of  the  occasion. 

The  party  now  repaired  to  the  village  and  marched  to  the 
home  of  the  bride.  The  hour  for  the  observance  of  the  mar 
riage  rites  was  just  before  the  midday  meal.  When  the  groom 
reached  the  bride's  home  he  found  her  in  readiness.  Sweet 
and  pretty  Alice  looked  in  her  gray  linsey  gown,  perfectly 
plain  and  simple  though  it  was,  without  an  ornament  or  a 
ribbon.  Proud  indeed  looked  her  lover  as  he  took  her  hand 
and  led  her  up  to  the  waiting  minister.  When  the  whisper 
ings  had  ceased  the  minister  asked  who  gave  this  woman  to 
be  married.  Alice's  father  answered. • 

"Will  you  take  this  woman  to  be  your  wedded  wife,  to  love, 
cherish  and  protect  her  all  the  days  of  her  life?"  asked  the 
minister. 

"I  will,"  answered  a  deep  bass  voice. 

"Will  you  take  this  man  to  be  your  wedded  husband,  to 
love,  honor  and  obey  him  all  the  days  of  your  life?" 

"I  will,"  said  Alice,  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  pronounce  you  man  and  wife.  Those  whom  God  has 
joined  together  let  no  man  put  asunder." . 

There  was  a  brief  prayer  and  the  ceremony  ended.  Then 
followed  the  congratulations  of  relatives  and  friends.  The 
felicitations  were  apt  to  be  trying  to  the  nerves  of  even  the 
best  tempered  groom.  The  hand  shakes,  the  heavy  slaps  on 
the  back,  and  the  pommeling  he  received  at  the  hands  of  his 
intimate  friends  were  as  nothing  compared  to  the  anguish  of 
mind  he  endured  while  they  were  kissing  his  wife.  The  young 
bucks  would  not  have  considered  it  a  real  wedding  had  they 
been  prevented  from  kissing  the  bride,  and  for  that  matter, 
every  girl  within  reach.  So  fast  as  the  burly  young  settlers 
could  push  themselves  through  the  densely  packed  rooms  they 
kissed  the  bride,  and  then  the  first  girl  they  came  to. 


Betty     Zane  65 

Betty  and  Lydia  had  been  Alice's  maids  of  honor.  This 
being  Betty's  first  experience  at  a  frontier  wedding,  it  devel 
oped  that  she  was  much  in  need  of  Lydia's  advice,  which  she 
had  previously  disdained.  She  had  rested  secure  in  her  dig 
nity.  Poor  Betty!  The  first  man  to  kiss  Alice  was  George 
Martin,  a  big,  strong  fellow,  who  gathered  his  brother's  bride 
into  his  arms  and  *gave  her  a  bearish  hug  and  a  resounding 
kiss.  Releasing  her  he  turned  toward  Lydia  and  Betty. 
Lydia  eluded  him,  but  one  of  his  great  hands  clasped 
around  Betty's  wrist.*  She  tried  to  look  haughty,  but  with 
everyone  laughing,  and  the  young  man's  face  expressive  of 
honest  fun  and  happiness  she  found  it  impossible.  She  stood 
still  and  only  turned  her  face  a  little  to  one  side  while  George 
kissed  her.  The  young  men  now  made  a  rush  for  her.  With 
blushing  cheeks  Betty,  unable  to  stand  her  ground  any  longer, 
ran  to  her  brother,  the  Colonel.  He  pushed  her  away  with  a 
laugh.  She  turned  to  Major  McColloch,  who  held  out  his 
arms  to  her.  With  an  exclamation  she  wrenched  herself 
free  from  a  young  man,  who  had  caught  her  hand,  and 
flew  to  the  Major.  But  alas  for  Betty!  The  Major 
was  not  proof  against  the  temptation  and  he  kissed  her 
himself. 

"Traitor!"  cried  Betty,  breaking  away  from  him. 

Poor  Betty  was  in  despair.  She  had  just  made  up  her 
mind  to  submit  when  she  caught  sight  of  Wetzel's  familiar 
figure.  She  ran  to  him  and  the  hunter  put  one  of  his  long 
arms  around  her. 

"I  reckon  I  kin  take  care  of  you,  Betty,"  he  said,  a  smile 
playing  over  his  usually  stern  face.  "See  here,  you  young 
bucks.  Betty  don't  want  to  be  kissed,  and  if  you  keep  on 
pesterin'  her  I'll  have  to  scalp  a  few  of  you." 

The  merriment  grew  as  the  day  progressed.  During  the 
wedding  feast  great  hilarity  prevailed.  It  culminated  in  the 
dance  which  followed  the  dinner.  The  long  room  of  the 
block-house  had  been  decorated  with  evergreens,  autumn  leaves 
and  goldenrod,  which  were  scattered  profusely  about,  hiding 
the  blackened  walls  and  bare  rafters.  Numerous  blazing  pine 
knots,  fastened  on  sticks  which  were  stuck  into  the  walls, 


66  Betty    Zane 

lighted  up  a  scene,  which  for  color  and  animation  could  not 
have  been  surpassed. 

Colonel  Zane's  old  slave,  Sam,  who  furnished  the  music,  sat 
on  a  raised  platform  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall,  and  the 
way  he  sawed  away  on  his  fiddle,  accompanying  the  movements 
of  his  arm  with  a  swaying  of  his  body  and  a  stamping  of  his 
heavy  foot,  showed  he  had  a  hearty  appreciation  of  his  own 
Value. 

Prominent  among  the  men  and  women  standing  and  sitting 
near  the  platform  could  be  distinguished  the  tall  forms  of 
Jonathan  Zane,  Major  McColloch  and  Wetzel,  all,  as  usual, 
dressed  in  their  hunting  costumes  and  carrying  long  rifles. 
The  other  men  had  made  more  or  less  effort  to  improve  their 
appearance.  Bright  homespun  shirts  and  scarfs  had  replaced 
the  everyday  buckskin  garments.  Major  McColloch  was 
talking  to  Colonel  Zane.  The  genial  faces  of  both  reflected 
the  pleasure  they  felt  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  younger  people. 
Jonathan  Zane  stood  near  the  door.  Moody  and  silent  he 
watched  the  dance.  Wetzel  leaned  against  the  wall.  The 
black  barrel  of  his  rifle  lay  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm.  The 
hunter  was  gravely  contemplating  the  members  of  the  bridal 
party  who  were  dancing  in  front  of  him.  When  the  dance 
ended  Lydia  and  Betty  stopped  before  Wetzel  and  Betty 
said:  "Lew,  aren't  you  going  to  ask  us  to  dance?" 

The  hunter  looked  down  into  the  happy,  gleaming  faces, 
and  smiling  in  his  half  sad  way,  answered:  "Every  man  to 
his  gifts." 

"But  you  can  dance.  I  want  you  to  put  aside  your  gun 
long  enough  to  dance  with  me.  If  I  waited  for  }^ou  to  ask 
"me,  I  fear  I  should  have  to  wait  a  long  t(ime.  Come,  Lew,  here 
I  am  asking  you,  and  I  know  the  other  men  are  dying  to  dance 
with  me,"  said  Betty,  coaxingly,  in  a  roguish  voice. 

Wetzel  never  refused  a  request  of  Betty's,  and  so,  laying 
aside  his  weapons,  he  danced  with  her,  to  the  wonder  and 
admiration  of  all.  Colonel  Zane  clapped  his  hands,  and 
everyone  stared  in  amazement  at  the  unprecedented  sight. 
Wetzel  danced  not  ungracefully.  He  was  wonderfully  light 
on  his  feet.  His  striking  figure,  the  long  black  hair,  and  the 


BettyZane  u7 

fancifully  embroidered  costume  he  wore  contrasted  strangely 
with  Betty's  slender,  graceful  form  and  pretty  gray 
dress. 

"Well,  well,  Lewis,  I  would  not  have  believed  anything  but 
the  evidence  of  my  own  eyes,"  said  Colonel  Zane,  with  a  laugh, 
as  Betty  and  Wetzel  approached  him. 

"If  all  the  men  could  dance  as  well  as  Lew,  the  girls  would 
be  thankful,  I  can  assure  you,"  said  Betty. 

"Betty,  I  declare  you  grow  prettier  every  day,"  said  old 
John  Bennet,  who  was  standing  with  the  Colonel  and  the 
Major.  "If  I  were  only  a  young  man  once  more  I  should 
try  my  chances  with  you,  and  I  wouldn't  give  up  very 
easily." 

"I  do  not  know,  Uncle  John,  but  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  if  you  were  a  young  man  and  should  come  a-wooing  you 
would  not  get  a  rebuff  from  me,"  answered  Betty,  smiling  on 
the  old  man,  of  whom  she  was  very  fond. 

"Miss  Zane,  will  you  dance  with  me?" 

The  voice  sounded  close  by  Betty's  side.  She  recognized 
it,  and  an  unaccountable  sensation  of  shyness  suddenly  came 
over  her.  She  had  firmly  made  up  her  mind,  should  Mr. 
Clarke  ask  her  to  dance,  that  she  would  tell  him  she  was  tired, 
or  engaged  for  that  number — anything  so  that  she  could 
avoid  dancing  with  him.  But,  now  that  the  moment  had  come 
she  either  forgot  her  resolution  or  lacked  the  courage  to  keep 
it,  for  as  the  music  commenced,  she  turned  and  without  saying 
a  word  or  looking  at  him,  she  placed  her  hand  on  his  arm.  He 
whirled  her  away.  She  gave  a  start  of  surprise  and  delight 
at  the  familiar  step  and  then  gave  herself  up  to  the  charm  of 
the  dance.  Supported  by  his  strong  arm  she  floated  around 
the  room  in  a  sort  of  dream.  Dancing  as  they  did  was  new 
to  the  young  people  at  the  Fort — it  was  a  style  then  in  vogue 
in  the  east — and  everyone  looked  on  with  great  interest  and 
curiosity.  But  all  too  soon  the  dance  ended  and  before  Betty 
had  recovered  her  composure  she  found  that  her  partner  had 
led  her  to  a  secluded  seat  in  the  lower  end  of  the  hall.  The 
bench  was  partly  obscured  from  the  dancers  by  masses  of 
autumn  leaves. 


68  BettyZane 


"That  was  a  very  pleasant  dance,"  said  Alfred.  "Miss 
Boggs  told  me  you  danced  the  round  dance." 

"I  was  much  surprised  and  pleased,"  said  Betty,  who  had 
indeed  enjoyed  it. 

"It  has  been  a  delightful  day,"  went  on  Alfred,  seeing  that 
Betty  was  still  confused.  "I  almost  killed  myself  in  that 
race  for  the  bottle  this  morning.  I  never  saw  such  logs  and 
brush  heaps  and  ditches  in  my  life.  I  am  sure  that  if  the 
fever  of  recklessness  which  seemed  in  the  air  had  not  sud 
denly  seized  me  I  would  never  have  put  my  horse  at  such 
leaps." 

"I  heard  my  brother  say  your  horse  was  one  of  the  best 
he  had  ever  seen,  and  that  you  rode  superbly,"  murmured 
Betty. 

"Well,  to  be  honest,  I  would  not  care  to  take  that  ride  again. 
It  certainly  was  not  fair  to  the  horse." 

"How  do  you  like  the  fort  by  this  time?" 

"Miss  Zane,  I  am  learning  to  love  this  free,  wild  life.  I 
really  think  I  was  made  for  the  frontier.  The  odd  customs 
and  manners  which  seemed  strange  at  first  have  become  very 
acceptable  to  me  now.  I  find  everyone  so  honest  and  simple 
and  brave.  Here  one  must  work  to  live,  which  is  right.  Do 
you  know,  I  never  worked  in  my  life  until  I  came  to  Fort 
Henry.  My  life  was  all  uselessness,  idleness." 

"I  can  hardly  believe  that,"  answered  Betty.  "You  have 
learned  to  dance  and  ride  and " 

"What?"  asked  Alfred,  as  Betty  hesitated. 

"Never  mind.  It  was  an  accomplishment  with  which  the 
girls  credited  you,"  said  Betty,  with  a  little  laugh. 

"I  suppose  I  did  not  deserve  it.  I  heard  I  had  a  singular 
aptitude  for  discovering  young  ladies  in  distress." 

"Have  you  become  well  acquainted  with  the  boys?"  asked 
Betty,  hastening  to  change  the  subject. 

"Oh,  yes,  particularly  with  your  Indianized  brother,  Isaac. 
He  is  the  finest  fellow,  as  well  as  the  most  interesting,  I  ever 
knew.  I  like  Colonel  Zane  immensely  too.  The  dark,  quiet 
fellow,  Jack,  or  John,  they  call  him,  is  not  like  your  other 
brothers.  The  hunter,  Wetzel,  inspires  me  with  awe.  Every- 


Betty    Zane  69 

one  has  been  most  kind  to  me  and  I  have  almost  forgotten  that 
I  was  a  wanderer." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Betty. 

"Miss  Zone,"  continued  Alfred,  "doubtless  you  have  heard 
that  I  come  West  because  I  was  compelled  to  leave  my  home. 
Please  d^>  noi  believe  everything  you  hear  of  me.  Some  day 
I  may  tell  you  my  story  if  you  care  to  hear  it.  Suffice  it  to 
say  now  that  I  left  my  home  of  my  own  free  will  and  I  could 
go  back  to-morrow." 

"I  did  not  mean  to  imply "  began  Betty,  coloring. 

"Of  course  not.  But  tell  me  about  yourself.  Is  it  not 
rather  dull  and  lonesome  here  for  vou?" 

*/ 

"It  was  last  winter.  But  I  have  been  contented  and  happy 
this  summer.  Of  course,  it  is  not  Philadelphia  life,  and  I  miss 
the  excitement  and  gayety  of  my  uncle's  house.  I  knew  my 
place  was  with  my  brothers.  My  aunt  pleaded  with  me  tQ 
live  with  her  and  not  go  to  the  wilderness.  I  had  everything 
I  wanted  there — luxury,  society,  parties,  balls,  dances,  friends, 
all  that  the  heart  of  a  girl  could  desire,  bat  I  preferred  to 
come  to  tliis  little  frontier  settlement.  Strange  choice  for  a 
girl,  was  it  not?" 

"Unusual,  yes,"  answered  Alfred,  gravely.  "And  I  cannot 
but  wonder  what  motives  actuated  our  coming  to  Fort  Henry. 
I  came  to  seek  my  fortune.  You  came  to  bring  sunshine  into 
the  home  of  your  brother,  and  left  your  fortune  behind  you. 
Well,  your  motive  has  the  element  of  nobility.  Mine  has  noth 
ing  but  that  of  recklessness.  I  would  like  to  read  the  future." 

"I  do  not  think  it  is  right  to  have  such  a  wish.  With  the 
veil  rolled  away  could  you  work  as  hard,  accomplish  as  much? 
I  do  not  want  to  know  the  future.  Perhaps  some  of  it  will  be 
unhappy.  I  have  made  my  choice  and  will  cheerfully  abide 
by  it.  I  rather  envy  your  being  a  man.  You  have  the  world 
to  conquer.  A  woman — what  can  she  do  ?  She  can  knead  the 
dough,  ply  the  distaff,  and  sit  by  the  lattice  and  watch  and 
wait." 

"Let  us  postpone  such  melancholy  thoughts  until  some  fu 
ture  day.  I  have  not  as  yet  said  anything  that  I  intended. 
I  wish  to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  that  I  acted  in  such  a  rude 


70  Betty    Zane 

way  the  night  jour  brother  came  home.  I  do  not  know  what 
made  me  do  so,  but  I  know  I  have  regretted  it  ever  since. 
Will  you  forgive  me  and  may  we  not  be  friends?" 

"I — I  do  not  know,"  said  Betty,  surprised  and  vaguely 
troubled  by  the  earnest  light  in  his  eyes. 

"But  why?  Surely  you  will  make  some  little  allowance  for 
a  naturally  quick  temper,  and  you  know  you  did  not — that 
you  were " 

"Yes,  I  remember  I  was  hasty  and  unkind.  But  I  made 
amends,  or  at  least,  I  tried  to  do  so." 

"Try  to  overlook  my  stupidity.  I  will  not  give  up  until 
you  forgive  me.  Consider  how  much  you  can  avoid  by  being 
generous." 

"Very  well,  then,  I  will  forgive  you,"  said  Betty,  who  had 
arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  this  young  man  was  one  of  de 
termination. 

"Thank  you.  I  promise  you  shall  never  regret  it.  An^ 
the  sprained  ankle?  It  must  be  well,  as  I  noticed  you  danced 
beautifully." 

"I  am  compelled  to  believe  what  the  girls  say — that  you 
are  inclined  to  the  language  of  compliment.  My  ankle  is 
nearly  well,  thank  you.  It  hurts  a  little  now  and  then." 

"Speaking  of  your  accident  reminds  me  of  the  day  it  hap 
pened,"  said  Alfred,  watching  her  closely.  He  desired  to 
tease  her  a  little,  but  he  was  not  sure  of  his  ground.  "I  had 
been  all  day  in  the  woods  with  nothing  but  my  thoughts — 
mostly  unhappy  ones — for  company.  When  I  met  you  I 
pretended  to  be  surprised.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  was  not, 
for  I  had  followed  your  dog.  He  took  a  liking  to  me  and  I 
was  extremely  pleased,  I  assure  you.  Well,  I  saw  your  face 
a  moment  before  you  knew  I  was  near  you.  When  you  heard 
my  footsteps  you  turned  with  a  relieved  and  joyous  cry. 
When  you  saw  whom  it  was  your  glad  expression  changed, 
and  if  I  had  been  a  hostile  Wyandot  you  could  not  have 
looked  more  unfriendly.  Such  a.  woeful,  tear-stained  face  I 


never  saw." 


"Mr.  Clarke,  please  do  not  speak  any  more  of  that,"  said 
Betty,  with  dignity.    "I  desire  that  you  forget  it." 


Betty    Zane  71 

"I  will  forget  all  except  that  it  was  I  who  had  the  happi 
ness  of  finding  you  and  of  helping  you.  I  cannot  forget 
that.  I  am  sure  we  should  never  have  been  friends  but  for 
that  accident." 

"There  is  Isaac.  He  is  looking  for  me,"  answered  Betty, 
rising. 

"Wait  a  moment  longer — please.  He  will  find  you,"  said 
Alfred,  detaining  her.  "Since  you  have  been  so  kind  I  have 
grown  bolder.  May  I  come  over  to  see  you  to-morrow?" 

He  looked  straight  down  into  the  dark  eyes  which  wavered 
and  fell  before  he  had  completed  his  question. 

"There  is  Isaac.     He  cannot  see  me  here.     I  must  go." 
"But  not  before  telling  me.     What  is  the  good  of  your 
forgiving  me  if  I  may  not  see  you.     Please  say  yes." 

"You  may  come,"  answered  Betty,  half  amused  and  half 
provoked  at  his  persistence.  "I  should  think  you  would  know 
that  such  permission  invariably  goes  with  a  young  woman's 
forgiveness." 

"Hello,  here  you  are.  What  a  time  I  have  had  in  finding 
you,"  said  Isaac,  coming  up  with  flushed  face  and  eyes  bright 
with  excitement.  "Alfred,  what  do  you  mean  by  hiding  the 
belle  ol  the  dance  away  like  this?  I  want  to  dance  with  you, 
Betts.  I  am  having  a  fine  time.  I  have  not  danced  anything 
but  Indian  dances  for  ages.  Sorry  to  take  her  away,  Alfred. 
I  can  see  she  doesn't  want  to  go.  Ha !  Ha !"  and  with  a  mis 
chievous  look  at  both  of  them  he  led  Betty  away. 

Alfred  kept  his  seat  awhile  lost  in  thought.  Suddenly  he 
remembered  that  it  would  look  strange  if  he  did  not  make 
himself  agreeable,  so  he  got  up  and  found  a  partner.  He 
danced  with  Alice,  Lydia,  and  the  other  young  ladies. 
After  an  hour  he  slipped  away  to  his  room.  He 
wished  to  be  alone.  He  wanted  to  think;  to  decide  whether 
it  would  be  best  for  him  to  stay  at  the  fort,  or  ride  away 
in  the  darkness  and  never  return.  With  the  friendly  touch 
of  Betty's  hand  the  madness  with  which  he  had  been  battling 
for  weeks  rushed  over  him  stronger  than  ever.  The  thrill  of 
that  soft  little  palm  remained  with  him,  and  he  pressed  the 
hand  it  had  touched  to  his  lips. 


72  BettyZane 

For  a  long  hour  he  sat  by  his  window.  He  could  dimly 
see  the  broad  winding  river,  with  its  curtain  of  pale  ftray  mist, 
and  beyond,  the  dark  outline  of  the  forest.  A  cool  breeze 
from  the  water  fanned  his  heated  brow,  and  the  quiei  and  soli 
tude  soothed  him. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

OOD   morning,  Harry.     Where   are  you 
/  going  so  early?"  called  Betty  from  the 
doorway. 

A  lad  was  passing  down  the  path  in 
front  of  Colonel  Zane's  house  as  Betty 
hailed  him.  He  carried  a  rifle  almost  as 
long  as  himself. 

"Mornin',  Betty.     I  am  goin'   'cross 
the  crick  f  er  that  turkey  I  hear  gobblin'," 
he  answered,  stopping  at  the  gate  and 
smiling  brightly  at  Betty. 

"Hello,  Harry  Bennet.  Going  after  that  turkey?  I  have 
heard  him  several  mornings  and  he  must  be  a  big,  healthy 
gobbler,"  said  Colonel  Zane,  stepping  to  the  door.  "You 
are  going  to  have  company.  Here  comes  Wetzel." 

"Good^  morning,  Lew.  Are  you  too  off  on  a  turkey  hunt  ?" 
said  Befy. 

"Listen,"  said  the  hunter,  as  he  stopped  and  leaned  against 
the  gate.  They  listened.  All  was  quiet  save  for  the  tinkle 
of  a  cow-bell  in  the  pasture  adjoining  the  Colonel's  barn. 
Presently  the  silence  was  groken  by  a  long,  shrill,  peculiar 
cry. 

"Chug-a-lug,  chug-a-lug,  chug-a-lug-chug." 
"Well,  it's  a  turkey,  all  right,  and  I'll  bet  a  big  gobbler," 
remarked  Colonel  Zane,  as  the  cry  ceased. 
"Has  Jonathan  heard  it?"  asked  Wetzel. 
"Not  that  I  know  of.    Why  do  you  ask.'"'  said  the  Colonel, 
in  a  low  tone.     "Look  here,  Lew,  is  that  not  a  genuine  call?" 
"Goodbye,  Harry,  be  sure  and  bring  me  a  turkey,"  called 
Betty,  as  she  disappeared. 

"I  calkilate  it's  a  red  turkey,"  answered  the  hunter,  and 
motioning  the  lad  to  stay  behind,  he  shouldered  his  rifle  and 
passed  swiftly  down  the  path. 

Of  all  the  Wetzel  family — a  family  noted  from  one  end 
of  tH  frontier  to  the  other — Lewis  was  the  most  famous. 


74  Betty    Zan« 

The  early  history  of  West  Virginia  and  Ohio  is  replete  with 
the  daring  deeds  of  this  wilderness  roamer,  this  lone  hunter 
and  insatiable  Nemesis,  justly  called  the  greatest  Indian 
slayer  known  to  men. 

—  When  Lewis  was  about  twenty  years  old,  and  his  brothers 
John  and  Martin  little  older,  they  left  their  Virginia  home  for 
a  protracted  hunt.  On  their  return  they  found  the  smoking 
ruins  of  the  home,  the  mangled  remains  of  father  and  mother, 
the  naked  and  violated  bodies  of  their  sisters,  and  the  scalped 
and  bleeding  corpse  of  a  baby  brother.  r • 

Lewis  Wetzel  swore  sleepless  and  eternal  vengeance  on  the 
whole  Indian  race.  Terribly  did  he  carry  out  that  resolution. 
From  that  time  forward  he  lived  most  of  the  time  in  the  woods, 
and  an  Indian  who  crossed  his  trail  was  a  doomed  man.  The 
various  Indian  tribes  gave  him  different  names.  The  Shaw- 
nees  called  him  "Long  Knife ;"  the  Hurons,  "Destroyer ;"  the 
Delawares,  "Death  Wind,"  and  any  one  of  these  names  would 
chill  the  heart  of  the  stoutest  warrior. 

To  most  of  the  famed  pioneer  hunters  of  the  border,  In 
dian  fighting  was  only  a  side  issue — generally  a  necessary  one 
— but  with  Wetzel  it  was  the  business  of  his  life.  Ke  lived 
solely  to  kill  Indians.  He  plunged  recklessly  into  the  strife, 
and  was  never  content  unless  roaming  the  wilderness  solitudes, 
trailing  the  savages  to  their  very  homes  and  ambushing  the 
village  bridlepath  like  a  panther  waiting  for  his  prey.  Often 
in  the  gray  of  the  morning  the  Indians,  sleeping  around  their 
camp  fire,  were  awakened  by  a  horrible,  screeching  yell.  They 
started  up  in  terror  only  to  fall  victims  to  the  tomahawk  of 
their  merciless  foe,  or  tc  hear  a  rifle  shot  and  get  a  glimpse 
of  a  form  with  flying  black  hair  disappearing  with  wonderful 
quickness  in  the  forest.  Wetzel  always  left  death  behind 
him,  and  he  was  gone  before  his  demoniac  yell  ceased  to  echo 
throughout  the  woods.  Although  often  pursued,  he  invariably 
eluded  the  Indians,  for  he  was  the  fleetest  runner  on  the  border. 

For  many  years  he  was  considered  the  right  hand  of  the 
defense  of  the  fort.  The  Indians  held  him  in  superstitious 
dread,  and  the  fact  that  he  was  known  to  be  in  the  settlement 
had  averted  more  than  one  attack  by  the  Indians. 


JSettyZane  75 

Many  regarded  Wetzel  as  a  savage,  a  man  who  was  mad 
for  the  blood  of  the  red  men,  and  without  one  redeeming 
quality.  But  this  was  an  unjust  opinion.  When  that  rest 
less  fever  for  revenge  left  him — it  was  not  always  with  him — 
he  was  quiet  and  peaceable.  To  those  few  who  knew  him  well 
he  was  even  amiable.  But  Wetzel,  although  known  to  every 
one,  cared  for  few.  He  spent  little  time  in  the  settlements 
and  rarely  spoke  except  when  addressed. 

Nature  had  singularly  fitted  him  for  his  pre-eminent  posi 
tion  among  scouts  and  hunters.  He  was  tall  and  broad  across 
the  shoulders;  his  strength,  agility  and  endurance  were  mar 
velous  ;  he  had  an  eagle  eye,  the  sagacity  of  the  bloodhound, 
and  that  intuitive  knowledge  which  plays  such  an  important 
part  in  a  hunter's  life.  He  knew  not  fear.  He  was  daring 
where  daring  was  the  wiser  part.  Crafty,  tireless  and  im 
placable,  Wetzel  was  incomparable  in  his  vocation. 

His  long  raven-black  hair,  of  which  he  was  vain,  when 
combed  out  reached  to  within  a  foot  of  the  ground.  He  had 
a  rare  scalp,  one  for  which  the  Indians  would  have  bartered 
anything. 

A  favorite  Indian  decoy,  and  the  most  fatal  one,  was  the 
imitation  of  the  call  of  the  wild  turkey.  It  had  often  hap 
pened  that  men  from  the  settlements  who  had  gone  out  for  a 
turkey  which  had  been  gobbling,  had  not  returned. 

For  several  mornings  Wetzel  had  heard  a  turkey  call,  and 
becoming  suspicious  of  it,  had  determined  to  satisfy  himself. 
On  the  east  side  of  the  creek  hill  there  was  a  cavern  some  fifty 
or  sixty  yards  above  the  water.  The  entrance  to  this  cavern 
was  concealed  by  vines  and  foliage.  Wetzel  knew  of  it,  and, 
crossing  the  stream  some  distance  above,  he  made  a  wide  cir 
cuit  and  came  up  back  of  the  cave.  Here  he  concealed  him 
self  in  a  clump  of  bushes  and  waited.  He  had  not  been  there 
long  when  directly  below  him  sounded  the  cry,  "Chug-a-lug, 
Chug-a-lug,  Chug-a-lug."  At  the  same  time  the  polished 
head  and  brawny  shoulders  of  an  Indian  warrior  rose  out  of 

•/ 

the  cavern.  Peering  cautiously  around,  the  savage  again 
gave  the  peculiar  cry,  and  then  sank  back  out  of  sight.  Wetzel 
screened  himself  safely  in  his  position  and  watched  the  savage 


76  Betty     Zane 

repeat  the  action  at  least  ten  times  before  he  made  up  his 
mind  that  the  Indian  was  alone  in  the  cave.  When  he  had 
satisfied  himself  of  this  he  took  a  quick  aim  at  the  twisted 
tuft  of  hair  and  fired.  Without  waiting  to  see  the  result  of  his 
shot — so  well  did  he  trust  his  unerring  aim — he  climbed  down 
the  steep  bank  and  brushing  aside  the  vines  entered  the  cave. 
A  stalwart  Indian  lay  in  the  entrance  with  his  face  pressed 
down  on  the  vines.  He  still  clutched  jn  his  sinewy  fingers  the 
buckhorn  mouthpiece  with  which  he  had  made  the  calls  that 
had  resulted  in  his  death. 

"Huron,"  muttered  the  hunter  to  himself  as  he  ran  the  keen 
edge  of  his  knife  around  the  twisted  tuft  of  hair  and  tore  off 
the  scalp-lock. 

The  cave  showed  evidence  of  having  been  inhabited  for  some 
time.  There  was  a  cunningly  contrived  fireplace  made  of 
stones,  against  which  pieces  of  birch  bark  were  placed  in  such 
a  position  that  not  a  ray  of  light  could  get  out  of  the  cavern. 
The  bed  of  black  coals  between  the  stones  still  smoked;  a 
quantity  of  parched  corn  lay  on  a  little  rocky  shelf  which 
jutted  out  from  the  wall;  a  piece  of  jerked  meat  and  a  buck 
skin  pouch  hung  from  a  peg. 

Suddenly  Wetzel  dropped  on  his  knees  and  began  examin 
ing  the  footprints  in  the  sandy  floor  of  the  cavern.  He  meas 
ured  the  length  and  width  of  the  dead  warrior's  foot.  He 
closely  scrutinized  every  moccasin  print.  He  crawled  to  the 
opening  of  the  cavern  and  carefully  surveyed  the  moss. 

Then  he  rose  to  his  feet.  A  remarkable  transformation 
had  come  over  him  during  the  last  few  moments.  His  face 
had  changed ;  the  calm  expression  was  replaced  by  one  sullen 
and  fierce ;  his  lips  were  set  in  a  thin,  cruel  line,  and  a  strange 
light  glittered  in  his  eyes. 

He  slowly  pursued  a  course  leading  gradually  down  to  the 
creek.  At  intervals  he  would  stop  and  listen.  The  strange 
voices  of  the  woods  were  not  mysteries  to  him.  They  were 
more  familiar  to  him  than  the  voices  of  men. 

He  recalled  that,  while  on  his  circuit  over  the  ridge  to  get 
behind  the  cavern,  he  had  heard  the  report  of  a  rifle  far  off  in 
the  di*  ction  of  the  chestnut  grove,  but,  as  that  was  a  favorite 


Betty    Zanc  ,7 

place  of  the  settlers  for  shooting  squirrels,  he  had  not  thought 
anything  of  it  at  the  time.  Now  it  had  a  peculiar  significance, 
lie  turned  abruptly  from  the  trail  he  had  been  following  arid 
plunged  down  the  steep  hill.  Crossing  the  creek  he  took  to 
the  cover  ot  the  willows,  which  grew  profusely  along  the 
banks,  and  striking  a  sort  of  bridle  path  he  started  on  a  run. 
He  ran  easily,  as  though  accustomed  to  that  mode  of  travel^ 
and  his  long  strides  covered  a  couple  of  miles  in  short  order. 
Coming  to  the  rugged  bluff,  which  marked  the  end  of  the 
rjdge,  he  stopped  and  walked  slowly  along  the  edge  of  the 
water.  He  struck  the  trail  of  the  Indians  where  it  crossed 
the  creek,  just  where  he  expected.  There  were  several  mocca 
sin  tracks  in  the  wet  sand  and,  in  some  of  the  depressions  made 
by  the  heels  the  rounded  edges  of  the  imprints  were  still 
smooth  and  intact.  The  little  pools  of  muddy  water,  which 
still  lay  in  these  hollows,  were  other  indications  to  his  keen 
eyes  that  the  Indians  had  passed  this  point  early  that  morn 
ing. 

The  trail  led  up  the  hill  and  far  into  the  woods.  Never 
in  doubt  the  hunter  kept  on  his  course ;  like  a  shadow  he  passed 
from  tree  to  tree  and  from  bush  to  bush ;  silently,  cautiously, 
but  rapidly  he  followed  the  tracks  of  the  Indians.  When 
he  had  penetrated  the  dark  backwoods  of  the  Black  Forest, , 
tangled  underbrush,  windfalls  and  gullies  crossed  his  path 
and  rendered  fast  trailing  impossible.  Before  these  almost  im 
passible  barriers  he  stopped  and  peered  on  all  sides,  studying 
the  lay  of  the  land,  the  deadfalls,  the  gorges,  and  all  the  time 
keeping  in  mind  the  probable  route  of  the  redsk.ins.  Then 
he  turned  aside  to  avoid  the  roughest  travelling.  Sometimes 
these  detours  were  only  a  few  hundred  feet  long;  often  they 
were  miles ;  but  nearly  always  he  struck  the  trail  again.  This 
almost  superhuman  knowledge  of  the  Indian's  ways  of  travers 
ing  the  forest,  which  probably  no  man  could  have  possessed 
without  giving  his  life  to  the  hunting  of  Indians,  was  the  one 
feature  of  Wetzel's  woodcraft  which  placed  him  so  far  above 
other  hunters,  and  made  him  so  dreaded  by  the  savages. 

Descending  a  knoll  he  entered  a  glade  where  the  trees  grew 
farther  apart  and  the  underbrush  was  only  knee  high.  Th« 


78  Betty    Zanc 

black  soil  showed  that  the  tract  of  !and  had  been  burned  ove* 
On  the  banks  of  a  babbling  brook  which  wound  its  way  through 
this  open  space,  the  hunter  found  tracks  which  brought  an 
exclamation  from  him.  Clearly  defined  in  the  soft  earth  was 
the  .impress  of  a  white  man's  moccasin.  The  ^..prints  of 
an  Indian  toe  inward.  Those  of  a  white  man  are  just  the 
opposite.  A  little  farther  on  Wetzel  came  to  a  slight  crush 
ing  of  the  moss,  where  he  concluded  some  heavy  body  had 
fallen.  As  he  had  seen  the  tracks  of  a  buck  and  doe  all  th«. 
way  down  the  brook  he  thought  it  probable  one  of  them  had 
been  shot  by  the  white  hunter.  He  found  a  pool  of  blood 
surrounded  by  moccasin  prints;  and  from  that  spot  the  trail 
led  straight  toward  the  west,  showing  that  for  some  reasoc 
the  Indians  had  changed  their  direction. 

This  new  move  puzzled  the  hunter,  and  he  leaned  against 
the  trunk  of  a  tree,  while  he  revolved  in  his  mind  the  reasons 
for  this  abrupt  departure — for  such  he  believed  it.  The  trail 
he  had  followed  for  miles  was  the  devious  trail  of  hunting 
Indians,  stealing  slowly  and  stealthily  along  watching  for 
their  prey,  whether  it  be  man  or  beast.  The  trail  toward  the 
west  was  straight  as  the  crow  flies ;  the  moccasin  prints  that 
indented  the  soil  were  wide  apart,  and  to  an  inexperienced 
eye  looked  like  the  track  of  one  Indian.  To  Wetzel  this  indi 
cated  that  the  Indians  had  all  stepped  in  the  tracks  of  a 
leader. 

As  was  usually  his  way,  Wetzel  decided  quickly.  Ha  had 
calculated  that  there  were  eight  Indians  in  all,  not  counting 
the  chief  whom  he  had  shot.  This  party  of  Indians  had 
Cither  killed  or  captured  the  white  man  who  for!  boen  hunting. 
Wetael  believed  that  a  part  of  the  Indians  would  push  on  with 
all  possible  speed,  leaving  some  of  their  number  to  ambash 
the  trail  or  double  back  on  it  to  see  if  they  were  pursued. 

An  hour  of  patient  waiting,  in  which  he  never  moved  from 
his  position,  proved  the  wisdom  of  his  judgment.  Suddenly, 
away  at  the  other  end  of  the  grove,  he  caught  a  flash  of 
brown,  of  a  liviner,  moving  something,  like  the  flitting  of  a  bird 
behind  a  tree.  Was  it  a  bird  or  a  squirrel?  Then  again  he 
saw  it,  almost  lost  in  the  shade  of  the  forest.  Several  minutes 


BcttyZane  79 

passed,  in  which  Wetzel  never  moved  and  hardly  breathed. 
The  shadow  had  disappeared  behind  a  tree.  He  fixed  his 
keen  eyes  on  that  tree  and  presently  a  dark  object  glided  from 
it  and  darted  stealthily  forward  to  another  tree.  One,  two, 
three  dark  forms  followed  the  first  one.  They  were  Indian 
warriors,  and  they  moved  so  quickly  that  only  the  eyes  of  a 
woodsman  like  Wetzel  could  have  discerned  their  movements 
at  that  distance. 

Probably  most  hunters  would  have  taken  to  thejr  heels 
while  there  was  yet  time.  The  thought  did  not  occur  to 
Wetzel.  He  slowly  raised  the  hammer  of  his  rifle.  As  the 
Indians  came  into  plain  view  he  saw  they  did  not  suspect  his 
presence,  but  were  returning  on  the  trail  in  their  customary 
cautious  manner. 

When  the  first  warrior  reached  a  big  oak  tree  some  two  hun 
dred  yards  distant,  the  long,  black  barrel  of  the  hunter's  rifle 
began  slowly,  almost  imperceptibly,  to  rise,  and  as  it  reached 
a  level  the  savage  stepped  forward  from  the  tree.  With  the 
sharp  report  of  the  weapon  he  staggered  and  fell. 

Wetzel  sprang  up  and  knowing  that  his  only  escape  was 
in  rapid  flight,  with  his  well  known  yell,  he  bounded  off  at 
the  top  of  his  speed.  The  remaining  Indians  discharged  their 
guns  at  the  fleeing,  dodging  figure,  but  without  effect.  So 
rapidly  did  he  dart  m  and  out  among  the  trees  that  an  effec 
tual  aim  was  impossible.  Then,  with  loud  yells,  the  Indians, 
drawing  their  tomahawks,  started  in  pursuit,  expecting  soon 
to  overtake  their  victim. 

In  the  early  years  of  his  Indian  hunting,  Wetzel  had  per 
fected  himself  in  a  practice  which  had  saved  his  life  many 
times,  and  had  added  much  to  his  fame.  He  could  reload  his 
rifle  whilt  .  Aiming  at  topmost  speed.  His  extraordinary 
fleetnes?  enabled  him  to  keep  ahead  of  his  pursuers  until  his 
riht  was  reloaded.  This  trick  he  now  employed.  Keeping 
up  his  uneven  pace  until  his  gun  was  ready,  he  turned  quickly 
and  shot  the  nearest  Indian  dead  in  his  tracks.  The  next  In 
dian  had  by  this  time  nearly  come  up  with  him  and  close 
enough  to  throw  his  tomahawk,  which  whizzed  dangerously 
near  Wetzel's  head.  But  he  leaped  forward  again  and  soon 


SO  Betty    Zane 

his  rifle  was  reloaded.  Every  time  he  looked  around  the  In 
dians  treed,  afraid  to  face  his  unerring  weapon.  After  run 
ning  a  mile  or  more  in  this  manner,  he  reached  an  open 
space  in  the  woods  where  he  wheeled  suddenly  on  his  pur 
suers.  The  foremost  Indian  jumped  behind  a  tree,  but,  as  it 
did  not  entirely  screen  his  body,  he,  too,  fell  a  victim  to  the 
hunter's  aim.  The  Indian  must  have  been  desperately  wound 
ed,  for  his  companion  now  abandoned  the  chase  and  went  to 
his  assistance.  Together  they  disappeared  in  the  forest. 

Wetzel,  seeing  that  he  was  no  longer  pursued,  slackened 
his  pace  and  proceeded  thoughtfully  toward  the  settlement. 


That  same  day,  several  hours  after  Wetzel's  departure  in 
quest  of  the  turkey,  Alfred  Clarke  strolled  over  from  the  fort 
and  found  Colonel  Zane  in  the  yard.  The  Colonel  was  indus 
triously  stirring  the  contents  of  a  huge  copper  kettle  which 
swung  over  a  brisk  wood  fire.  The  honeyed  fragrance  of 
apple-butter  mingled  with  the  pungent  odor  of  burning 
hickory. 

"Morning,  Alfred,  you  see  they  have  me  at  it,"  was  the 
Colonel's  salute. 

"So  I  observe,"  answered  Alfred,  as  he  seated  himself  on 
the  wood-pile.  "What  is  it  you  are  churning  so  vigorously?" 

"Apple-butter,  my  boy,  apple-butter.  I  don't  allow  even 
Bessie  to  help  when  I  am  making  apple-butter." 

"Colonel  Zane,  I  have  come  over  to  ask  a  favor.  Ever 
since  you  notified  us  that  you  intended  sending  an  expedition 
up  the  river  I  have  been  worried  about  my  horse  Roger.  He 
is  too  light  for  a  pack  horse,  and  I  cannot  take  two  horses." 

"I'll  let  you  have  the  bay.  He  is  big  and  strong  enough. 
That  black  horse  of  yours  is  a  beauty.  You  leave  Roger 
wHh  me  and  if  you  never  come  back  I'll  be  in  a  fine  horse.  Ha  ! 
Ha!  But,  seriously,  Clarke,  this  proposed  trip  is  a  hazardous 
undertaking,  and  if  you  would  rather  stay  -  " 

"You  misunderstand  me,"  quickly  replied  Alfred,  who  had 
flushed,  "I  do  not  care  about  myself.  I'll  go  and  take  mj 
oiedic.ine.  But  I'do  mind  about  my  horse." 


Betty    Zane  81 

"That's  right.  Always  think  of  your  horses.  I'll  have  Sam 
take  the  best  of  care  of  Roger." 

"What  is  the  nature  of  this  excursion,  and  how  long  shall 
we  be  gone?" 

"Jonathan  will  guide  the  party.  He  says  it  will  take  sir 
weeks  if  you  have  pleasant  weather.  You  are  to  go  by  wa$ 
of  Short  Creek,  where  you  will  help  put  up  a  blockhouse. 
Then  you  go  to  Fort  Pitt.  There  you  will  embark  on  a  raft 
with  the  supplies  I  need  and  make  the  return  journey  by 
water.  You  will  probably  smell  gunpowder  before  you  get 
back." 

"What  shall  we  do  with  the  horses?" 

"Bring  them  along  with  you  on  the  raft,  of  course." 

"That  is  a  new  way  to  travel  with  horses,"  said  Alfred, 
looking  dubx>usly  at  the  swift  river.  "Will  there  be  any 
way  to  get  news  from  Fort  Henry  while  we  are  away  ?" 

"Yes,  there  w.ill  be  several  runners." 

"Mr.  Clarke,  I  am  going  to  feed  my  pets.  Would  you  like 
to  see  them?"  asked  a  voice  which  brought  Alfred  to  his  feet. 
He  turned  and  saw  Betty.  Her  dog  followed  her,  carrying 
a  basket. 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  answered  Alfred.  "Have  you  more 
pets  than  Tige  and  Madcap?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed.  I  have  a  bear,  six  squirrels,  one  of  them 
white,  and  some  pigeons." 

Betty  led  the  way  to  an  enclosure  adjoining  Colonel  Zane's 
barn.  It  was  about  twenty  feet  square,  made  of  pine  sap 
lings  which  had  been  split  and  driven  firmly  into  the  ground. 
As  Betty  took  down  a  bar  and  opened  the  small  gate  a  number 
of  white  pigeons  fluttered  down  from  the  roof  of  the  barn, 
several  of  them  alighting  on  her  shoulders.  A  half-grown 
black  bear  came  out  of  a  kennel  and  shuffled  toward  her.  He 
was  unmistakably  glad  to  see  her,  but  he  avoided  going  near 
Tige,  and  looked  doubtfully  at  the  young  man.  But  after 
Alfred  had  stroked  his  head  and  had  spoken  to  him  he  seemed 
disposed  to  be  friendly,  for  he  sniffed  around  Alfred's  knees 
and  then  stood  up  and  put  his  paws  against  the  young  man's 
shoulders. 


82  Betty    Zant 

•  .'        j 

"Here,  Caesar,  get  down,"  said  Betty.  "He  always  wanti 
to  wrestle,  especially  with  anyone  of  whom  he  is  not  suspicious. 
He  is  very  tame  and  will  do  almost  anything.  Indeed,  you 
would  marvel  at  his  intelligence.  He  never  forgets  an  in 
jury.  If  anyone  plays  a  trick  on  him  you  may  be  sure  that 
person  will  not  get  a  second  opportunity.  The  night  we 
caught  him  Tige  chased  him  up  a  tree  and  Jonathan  climbed 
the  tree  and  lassoed  him.  Ever  since  he  has  evinced  a  hatred 
of  Jonathan,  and  if  I  should  leave  Tige  alone  with  him  there 
would  be  a  terrible  fight.  But  for  that  I  could  allow  Cassar 
to  run  free  about  the  yard." 

"He  looks  bright  and  sagacious,"  remarked  Alfred. 

"He  is,  but  sometimes  he  gets  into  mischief.  I  nearly  died 
laughing  one  day.  Bessie,  my  brother's  wife,  you  know,  had 
the  b.ig  kettle  on  the  fire,  just  as  you  saw  it  a  moment  ago, 
only  this  time  she  was  boiling  down  maple  syrup.  Tige  was 
out  with  some  of  the  men  and  I  let  Caesar  loose  awhile.  If  there 
is  anything  he  loves  it  is  maple  sugar,  so  when  he  smelled  the 
syrup  he  pulled  down  the  kettle  and  the  hot  syrup  went  all 
over  his  nose.  Oh,  his  howls  were  dreadful  to  hear.  The 
funniest  part  about  it  was  he  seemed  to  think  it  was  intentional, 
for  he  remained  sulky  and  cross  with  me  for  two  weeks." 

"I  can  understand  your  love  for  animals,"  said  Alfred.    "I 

think  there  are  many  interesting  things  about  wild  creatures. 

There  are  comparatively  few  animals  down  in  Virginia  where 

I  used  to  live,  and  my  opportunities  to  study  them  have  been 

.  limited." 

"Here  are  my  squirrels,"  said  Betty,  unfastening  the  door 
of  a  cage.  A  number  of  squirrels  ran  out.  Several  jumped  tc 
the  ground.  One  perched  on  top  of  the  box.  Another  sprang 
on  Betty's  shoulder.^  "I  fasten  them  up  everv  night,  for  I'm 
afraid  the  weasels  and  foxes  will  get  them.  The  white  squirrel 
is  the  only  albino  we  have  seen  around  here.  It  took  Jonathan 
weeks  to  trap  him,  but  once  captured  he  soon  grew  tame.  Is 
he  not  pretty  ?" 

"He  certainly  is.  I  never  saw  one  before;  in  fact,  I  did 
not  know  such  a  beautiful  little  animal  existed,"  answered 
Alfred,  looking  in  admiratjon  at  the  graceful  creature,  as  he 


BettyZane  S3 

leaped  from  the  she7'  to  Betty's  arm  and  ate  from  her  hand? 
his  great,  bushy  whit'.  cail  arching  over  his  back  and  his  small 
pink  eyes  shining. 

"There!  Listen,"  said  Betty.  "Look  at  the  fox  squirrel, 
the  big  brownish  red  one.  I  call  him  the  Captain,  because  he 
always  wants  to  boss  the  others.  I  had  another  fox  squirrel, 
older  than  this  fellow,  and  he  ran  things  to  suit  himself,  until 
one  day  the  grays  united  their  forces  and  routed  him.  I  think 
they  would  have  killed  him  had  I  not  freed  him.  Well,  this 
one  is  commencing  the  same  way.  Do  you  hear  that  odd  click 
ing  noise?  That  comes  from  the  Captain's  teeth,  and  he  is 
angry  and  jealous  because  I  show  so  much  attention  to  this  one. 
He  always  does  that,  and  he  would  fight  too  if  I  were  not  care 
ful.  It  is  a  singular  fact,  though,  that  the  white  squirrel  has 
not  even  a  little  pugnacity.  He  either  cannot  fight,  or  he 
is  too  well  behaved.  Here,  Mr.  Clarke,  show  Snowball  this 
nut,  and  then  hide  it  in  your  pocket,  and  see  him  find  it." 

Alfred  did  as  he  was  told,  except  that  while  he  pretended 
to  put  the  nut  in  his  pocket  he  really  kept  it  concealed  in  his 
hand. 

The  pet  squirrel  leaped  lightly  on  Alfred's  shoulder,  ran 
over  his  breast,  peeped  ,in  all  his  pockets,  and  even  pushed 
his  cap  to  one  side  of  his  head.  Then  he  ran  down  Alfred's 
arm,  sniffed  in  his  coat  sleeve,  arid  finally  wedged  a  cold  little 
nose  between  his  closed  fingers. 

"There,  he  has  found  it,  even  though  you  did  not  play  fair," 
said  Betty,  laughing  gaily. 

Alfred  never  forgot  the  picture  Betty  made  standing  there 
with  the  red  cap  on  her  dusky  hair,  and  the  loving  smile  upon 
her  face  as  she  talked  to  her  pets.  A  white  fan-tail  pigeon 
had  alighted  on  her  shoulder  and  was  picking-  daintily  at  the 
piece  of  cracker  she  held  between  her  lips.  The  squirrels  were 
all  sitting  up,  each  with  a  nut  in  his  little  paws,  and  each  with 
an  alert  and  cunning  look  in  the  corner  cf  his  eye,  to  pre 
vent,  no  doubt,  being  surprised  out  of  a  portion  of  h.is  nut. 
Ca?sar  was  lying  en  all  fours,  growling  and  tearing  at  his 
breakfast,  while  the  dog  locked  on  with  a  superior  air,  as  if 
he  knew  they  would  not  have  had  any  breakfast  but  for  him. 


84  Betty    Zan« 

"Are  you  fond  of  canoeing  and  fishn  •  j?"  asked  Betty,  as 
they  returned  to  the  house. 

"Indeed  I  am.  Isaac  has  taken  me  out  on  the  river  often. 
Canoe.ing  may  be  pleasant  for  a  girl,  but  I  never  knew  one 
who  cared  for  fishing." 

"Now  you  behold  one.  I  love  dear  old  Izaak  Walton.  Of 
course,  you  have  read  his  books?" 

"I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  have  not." 

"And  you  say  you  are  a  fisherman  ?  Well,  you  have  a  great 
pleasure  in  store,  as  well  as  an  opportunity  to  learn  something 
of  the  'contemplative  man's  recreation.'  I  shall  lend  you  the 
books." 

"I  have  not  seen  a  book  since  I  came  to  Fort  Henry." 

"I  have  a  fine  little  library,  and  you  are  welcome  to  any  of 
mv  books.  But  to  return  to  fishing.  I  love  it,  and  yet  I 
nearly  always  allow  the  fish  to  go  free.  Sometimes  I  bring 
home  a  pretty  sunfish,  place  him  in  a  tub  of  water,  watch 
him  and  try  to  tame  him.  But  I  must  admit  failure.  It  is 
the  association  which  makes  fishing  so  delightful.  The  canoe 
gliding  down  a  swift  stream,  the  open  air,  the  blue  sky,  the 
birds  and  trees  and  flowers — these  are  what  I  love.  Come 
and  see  my  canoe." 

Thus  Betty  rattled  on  as  she  led  the  way  through  the  sit 
ting-room  and  kitchen  to  Colonel  Zane's  magaz.ine  and  store 
house  which  opened  into  the  kitchen.  This  little  low-roofed  hut 
contained  a  variety  of  things.  Boxes,  barrels  and  farming  im 
plements  filled  one  corner;  packs  of  dried  skins  were  piled 
against  the  wall;  some  otter  and  fox  pelts  were  stretched  on 
the  wall,  and  a  number  of  powder  kegs  lined  a  shelf.  A  slen 
der  canoe  swung  from  ropes  thrown  over  the  rafters.  Alfred 
slipped  it  out  of  the  loops  and  carried  it  outside. 

The  canoe  was  a  superb  specimen  of  Indian  handiwork.  It 
had  a  length  of  fourteen  feet  and  was  made  of  birch  bark, 
stretched  over  a  light  framework  of  basswood.  The  bow 
curved  gracefully  upward,  ending  in  a  carved  image  repre 
senting  a  warrior's  head.  The  sides  were  beautifully  orna 
mented  and  decorated  in  fanciful  Indian  designs. 

"My  brother's  Indian  guide,  Tomepomehala,  a 


85 

chief,  made  it  for  me.  You  see  this  design  on  the  bow.  The 
arrow  and  the  arm  mean  in  Ind,ian  language,  'The  race  is  to 
the  swift  and  the  strong.'  The  canoe  is  very  light.  See, 
I  can  easily  carry  it,"  said  Betty,  lifting  it  from  the 
grass. 

She  ran  into  the  house  and  presently  came  out  with  two 
rods,  a  book  and  a  basket. 

"These  are  Jack's  rods.  He  cut  them  out  of  the  heart  of 
ten-year-old  basswood  trees,  so  he  says.  We  must  be  careful 
of  them." 

Alfred  examined  the  rods  with  the  eye  of  a  connoisseur  and 
pronounced  them  perfect. 

"These  rods  have  been  made  by  a  lover  of  the  art.  Any 
one  with  half  an  eye  could  see  that.  What  shall  we  use  for 
ba.it?"  he  said. 

"Sam  got  me  some  this  morning." 

"Did  you  expect  to  go?"  asked  Alfred,  looking  up  in  sur 
prise. 

"Yes,  I  intended  going,  and  as  you  said  you  were  coming 
over,  I  meant  to  ask  you  to  accompany  me." 

"That  was  kind  of  you." 

"Where  are  3rou  young  people  going?"  called  Colonel  Zane, 
stopping  in  his  task. 

44 We  are  going  down  to  the  sycamore,"  answered  Betty. 

"Very  well.  But  be  certajn  and  stay  on  this  side  of  the 
creek  and  do  not  go  out  on  the  river,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"Why,  Eb,  what  do  you  mean?  One  might  think  Mr. 
Clarke  and  I  were  children,"  exclaimed  Betty. 

"You  certainly  aren't  much  more.  But  that  is  not  my  rea 
son.  Never  mind  the  reason.  Do  as  I  say  or  do  not  go,;> 
said  Colonel  Zane. 

"All  right,  brother.  I  shall  not  forget,"  said  Betty,  soberly, 
looking  at  the  Colonel.  He  had  not  spoken  in  his  usual  teas 
ing  way,  and  she  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  him.  "Come,  Mr. 
Clarke,  you  carry  the  canoe  and  follow  me  down  this  path 
and  look  sharp  for  roots  and  stones  or  you  my  trip." 

"Where  is  Isaac?"  asked  Alfred,  as  he  lighly  swuner  the 
Ncanoe  over  his  shoulder. 


86  Betty    Zane 

"He  took  his  rifle  and  went  up  to  the  chestnut  grove  an 
hour  or  more  ago." 

A  few  minutes'  walk  down  the  willow  skirted  path  and  they 
reached  the  creek.  Here  it  was  a  narrow  stream,  hardly  fifty 
feet  wide,  shallow,  and  full  of  stones  over  which  the  clear 
brown  water  rushed  noisily. 

"Is  jt  not  rather  risky  going  down  there?"  asked  Alfred, 
is  he  noticed  the  swift  current  and  the  numerous  boulders 
poking  treacherous  heads  just  above  the  water. 

"Of  course.  That  is  the  great  pleasure  in  canoeing,"  sai<? 
Betty,  calmly.  "If  you  would  rather  walk " 

"No,  I'll  go  if  I  drown.    I  was  thinking  of  you." 

"It  is  safe  enough  if  you  can  handle  a  paddle,"  said  Betty, 
with  a  smile  at  his  hesitation.  "And,  of  course,  if  your  partner 
in  the  canoe  sits  trim." 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  allow  me  to  use  the  paddle.  Where 
did  you  learn  to  steer  a  canoe?" 

"I  believe  you  are  actually  afraid.  Why,  I  was  born  on 
the  Potomac,  and  have  used  a  paddle  since  I  was  old  enough 
to  lift  one.  Come,  place  the  canoe  in  here  and  we  will  keep 
to  the  near  shore  until  we  reach  the  bend.  There  is  a  little 
fall  just  below  this  and  I  love  to  shoot  it." 

He  steadied  the  canoe  with  one  hand  while  he  held  out  the 
other  to  help  her,  but  she  stepped  nimbly  aboard  without  his 
assistance. 

"Wait  a  moment  while  I  catch  some  crickets  and  grass 
hoppers." 

"Gracious !  What  a  fisherman.  Don't  you  know  we  have 
had  frost?" 

"That's  so,"  said  Alfred,  abashed  by  her  simple  remark. 

"But  you  might  find  some  crickets  under  those  logs,"  said 
Betty.  She  laughed  merrjly  at  the  awkward  spectacle  made 
by  Alfred  crawling  over  the  ground,  improvising  a  sort  of 
trap  out  of  his  hat,  and  pouncing  down  on  a  poor  little  in 
sect. 

"Now,  get  in  carefully,  and  give  the  canoe  a  push.  There, 
we  are  off,"  she  said,  taking  up  the  paddle. 

The  little  bark  glided  slowly  down  stream,,  at  first  hugging 


Betty    Zane  87 

the  bank  as  though  reluctant  to  trust  itself  to  the  deeper 
water,  and  then  gathering  headway  as  a  few  gentle  strokes 
of  the  paddle  swerved  it  into  the  current.  Betty  knelt  on  one 
knee  and  skillfully  plied  the  paddle,  using  the  Indian  stroke 
in  which  the  paddle  was  not  removed  from  the  water. 

"This  is  great !"  exclaimed  Alfred,  as  he  leaned  back  in  the 
bow  facing  her.  "There  is  nothing  more  to  be  desired.  Th,is 
beautiful  clear  stream,  the  air  so  fresh,  the  gold  lined  banks, 
the  autumn  leaves,  a  guide  who " 

"Look,"  said  Betty.  "There  is  the  fall  over  which  we  must 
pass." 

He  looked  ahead  and  saw  that  they  were  swiftly  approach 
ing  two  huge  stones  that  reared  themselves  high  out  of  the 
water.  They  were  only  a  few  yards  apart  and  surrounded  by 
smaller  rocks,  about  which  the  water  rushed  white  with 
foam. 

"Please  do  not  move !"  cried  Betty,  her  eyes  shining  bright 
with  excitement. 

Indeed,  the  situation  was  too  novel  for  Alfred  to  do  any 
thing  but  feel  a  keen  enjo}-ment.  He  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  was  sure  to  get  a  ducking,  but,  as  he  watched  Betty's 
easy,  yet  vigorous  sweeps  with  the  paddle,  and  her  sm,iling, 
yet  resolute  lips,  he  felt  reassured.  He  could  see  that  the  fall 
was  not  a  great  one,  only  a  few  feet,  but  one  of  those  glancing 
sheets  of  water  like  a  mill  race,  and  he  well  knew  that  if  they 
struck  a  stone  disaster  would  be  theirs.  Twenty  feet  above 
the  white-capped  wave  which  marked  the  fall,  Betty  gave  a 
strong  forward  pull  on  the  paddle,  a  deep  stroke  which  mo 
mentarily  retarded  their  progress  even  in  that  swift  current, 
and  then,  a  short  backward  stroke,  far  under  the  stern  of  the 
canoe,  and  the  Ijttle  vessel  turned  straight,  almost  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  course  between  the  two  rocks.  As  she  raised  her 
paddle  into  the  canoe  and  smiled  at  the  fascinated  young  man, 
the  bow  dipped,  and  with  that  peculiar  downward  movement, 
that  swift,  exhilarating  rush  so  dearly  loved  by  canoeists, 
they  shot  down  the  smooth  incline  of  water,  were  lost  for  a 
moment  in  a  white  cloud  of  mist,  and  in  another  they  floated 
into  a  placid  pool. 


88  Betty    Zane 

"Was  not  that  delightful?"  she  asked,  with  just  a  little  con 
scious  pride  glowing  in  her  dark  eyes. 

"Miss  Zane,  it  was  more  than  that.  I  apologize  for  my 
suspicions.  You  have  admirable  skill.  I  only  wish  that  on 
my  voyage  down  the  River  of  Life  I  could  have  such  a  sure 
eye  and  hand  to  guide  me  through  the  dangerous  reefs  and 
rapids." 

"You  are  poetical,"  said  Betty,  who  laughed,  and  at  the 
same  time  blushed  slightly.  "But  you  are  right  about  the 
guide.  Jonathan  says  'always  get  a  good  guide,'  and  as  guid 
ing  is  his  work  he  ought  to  know.  But  thjis  has  nothing  in 
common  with  fishing,  and  here  is  my  favorite  place  under  the 
old  sycamore." 

With  a  long  sweep  of  the  paddle  she  ran  the  canoe  along 
side  a  stone  beneath  a  great  tree  which  spread  its  long  branches 
over  the  creek  and  shaded  the  pool.  It  was  a  grand  old  tree 
and  must  have  guarded  that  sylvan  spot  for  centuries.  The 
gnarled  and  knotted  trunk  was  scarred  and  seamed  with  the 
ravages  of  time.  The  upper  part  was  dead.  Long  limbs  ex 
tended  skyward,  gaunt  and  bare,  like  the  masts  of  a  storm- 
beaten  vessel.  The  lower  branches  were  white  and  shining, 
relieved  here  and  there  by  brown  patches  of  bark  which  curled 
up  like  old  parchment  as  they  shelled  away  from  the  inner 
bark.  The  ground  beneath  the  tree  was  carpeted  with  a  vel 
vety  moss  with  little  plots  of  grass  and  clusters  of 
maiden-hair  fern  growing  on  it.  From  under  an  over 
hanging  rock  on  the  bank  a  spring  of  crystal  water  bubbled 
forth. 

Alfred  rigged  up  the  rods,  and  baiting  a  hook  directed 
Betty  to  throw  her  line  well  out  into  the  current  and  let  it 
'float  down  into  the  eddy.  She  complied,  and  hardly  had  the 
line  reached  the  circle  of  the  eddy,  where  bits  of  white  foam 
floated  round  and  round,  when  there  was  a  slight  splash,  a 
scream  from  Betty  and  she  was  standing  up  in  the  canoe 
holding  t.ightly  to  her  rod. 

"Be  careful!"  exclaimed  Alfred.  "Sit  down.  You  will 
have  the  canoe  upset  in  a  moment.  Hold  your  rod  steadj 
and  keep  the  line  taut.  That's  right.  Now  lead  him  rounc 


Betty    Zane  8fc 

toward  me.     There,"  and  grasping  the  line  he  lifted  a  fine 
rock  bass  over  the  side  of  the  canoe. 

"Oh!  I  always  get  so  intensely  excited,"  breathlessly  cried 
Betty.  "I  can't  help  it.  Jonathan  always  declares  he  wjll 
never  take  me  fishing  again.  Let  me  see  the  fish.  It's  a  gog 
gle-eye.  Isn't  he  pretty?  Look  how  funny  he  bats  his  eyes,'* 
and  she  laughed  gleefully  as  she  gingerly  picked  up  the  fish  by 
the  tail  and  dropped  him  into  the  water.  "Now,  Mr.  Goggle- 
eye,  if  you  are  wise,  in  future  you  will  beware  of  tempting 
looking  bugs." 

For  an  hour  they  had  splendid  sport.  The  pool  teemed 
with  sunfish.  The  bait  would  scarcely  touch  the  water  when 
the  little  orange  colored  fellows  would  rush  for  it.  Now  and 
then  a  black  bass  darted  wickedly  through  the  school  of  sun- 
fish  and  stole  the  morsel  from  them.  Or  a  sharp-nosed  fiery- 
eyed  pickerel — vulture  of  the  water — rising  to  the  surface, 
and,  supreme  in  his  indifference  to  man  or  fish,  would  swim 
lazily  round  until  he  had  discovered  the  cause  of  all  this  com 
motion  among  the  smaller  fishes,  and  then,  openjng  wide  his 
jaws  would  take  che  bait  with  one  voracious  snap. 

Presently  something  took  hold  of  Betty's  line  and  moved 
out  toward  the  middle  of  the  pool.     She  struck  and  the  next 
instant  her  rod  was  bent  double  and  the  tip  under  water. 
'Pull  your  rod  up!"  shouted  Alfred.     "Here,  hand  it  to 


me." 


But  it  was  too  late.  A  surge  right  and  left,  a  vicious  tug 
and  Betty's  line  floated  on  the  surface  of  the  water. 

"Now,  isn't  that  too  bad?    He  has  broken  my  line.     Good- 

•/ 

ness,  I  never  before  felt  such  a  strong  fish.  What  shall  I  do?** 
"You  should  be  thankful  you  were  not  pulled  in.  I  have 
been  in  a  state  of  fear  ever  since  we  commenced  fishing.  You 
move  round  in  this  canoe  as  though  it  were  a  raft.  Let  me 
paddle  out  to  that  little  ripple  and  try  once  there;  then  w« 
will  stop.  I  know  you  are  tired." 

Near  the  center  of  the  pool  a  half  submerged  rock  checked 
the  current  and  caused  a  little  ripple  of  the  water.  Several 
times  Alfred  had  seen  the  dark  shadow  of  a  large  fish  followed 
by  a  swirl  of  the  water,  and  the  frantic  leaping  of  little  bright 


90  BettyZane 

sided  minows  in  all  directions.  As  his  hook,  baited  with  a 
lively  shiner,  floated  over  the  spot,  a  long,  yellow  object  shot 
from  out  that  shaded  lair.  There  was  a  splash,  not  unlike  that 
made  by  the  sharp  edge  of  a  paddle  impelled  by  a  short,  pow 
erful  stroke,  the  minnow  disappeared,  and  the  broad  tail  of 
the  fish  flapped  on  the  water.  The  instant  Alfred  struck,  tht 
water  boiled  and  the  big  fish  leaped  clear  into  the  air,  shaking 
himself  convulsively  to  get  rid  of  the  hook.  He  made  mad 
rushes  up  and  down  the  pool,  under  the  canoe,  into  the  swift 
current  and  against  the  rocks,  but  all  to  no  avail.  Steadily 
Alfred  .increased  the  strain  on  the  line  and  gradually  it  began 
to  tell,  for  the  plunges  of  the  fish  became  shorter  and  less  fre 
quent.  Once  again,  in  a  last  magnificent  effort,  he  leaped 
straight  into  the  air,  and  failing  to  get  loose,  gave  up  the 
struggle  and  was  drawn  gasping  and  exhausted  to  the  side  of 
the  canoe. 

"Are  you  afraid  to  touch  him  ?"  asked  Alfred. 

" Indeed  I  am  not,"  answered  Betty. 

"Then  run  your  hand  gently  down  the  line,  slip  your  fingers 
in  under  his  gills  and  lift  him  over  the  side  carefully.*' 

"Five  pounds,"  exclaimed  Alfred,  when  the  fish  lay  at  his 
feet.  "This  is  the  largest  black  bass  I  ever  caught.  It  is  a 
pity  to  take  such  a  beautiful  fish  out  of  his  element." 

"Let  him  go,  then.    May  I?"  said  Betty. 

"No,  you  have  allowed  them  all  to  go,  even  the  pickerel, 
which  I  think  ought  to  be  killed.  We  will  keep  this  fellow 
alive,  and  place  him  in  that  nice  clear  pool  over  in  the  fort- 
yard." 

"I  like  to  watch  you  play  a  fish,"  said  Betty.  "Jonathan 
always  hauls  them  right  out.  You  are  so  skillful.  You  let 
this  fish  run  so  far  and  then  you  checked  him.  Then  you  gave 
him  a  l.ine  to  go  the  other  way,  and  no  doubt  he  felt  free  once 
more  when  you  stopped  him  again." 

"You  are  expressing  a  sentiment  which  has  been,  is,  andi 
always  will  be  particularly  pleasing  to  the  fair  sex,  I  believe,** 
observed  Alfred,  smiling  rather  grimly  as  he  wound  up  hi$ 
. 

'Would  you  mind  bejing  explicit  ?"  she  questioned. 


Betty    Zane  91 

Alfred  had  laughed  and  was  about  to  answer  when  the  whijx 
like  crack  of  a  rifle  rame  from  the  hillside.  The  echoes  of  thft 
shot  reverberated  from  hill  to  hill  and  were  finally  lost  far 
down  the  valley. 

"What  can  that  be?"  exclaimed  Alfred  anxiously,  recalling 
Colonel  Zane's  odd  manner  when  they  were  about  to  leave  the 
house. 

"I  am  not  sure,  but  I  think  that  is  my  turkey,  unless  Lew 
Wetzel  happened  to  miss  his  aim,"  said  Betty,  laughing.  "And 
that  is  such  an  unprecedented  thing  that  it  can  hardly  be  con 
sidered.  Turkeys  are  scarce  this  season.  Jonathan  says  the 
foxes  and  wolves  ate  up  the  broods.  Lew  heard  this  turkey 
calling  and  he  made  little  Harry  Benntt,  who  had  started  out 
with  his  gun,  stay  at  home  and  went  after  Mr.  Gobbler  him 
self." 

"Is  that  all?  Well,  that  is  nothing  to  get  alarmed  about, 
is  *,t?  I  actually  had  a  feeling  of  fear,  or  a  presentiment,  we 
fright  say." 

They  beached  the  canoe  and  spread  out  the  lunch  in  the 
tfhade  near  the  spring.  Alfred  threw  himself  at  length  upon 
the  grass  and  Betty  sat  leaning  against  the  tree.  She  took  a 
biscuit  in  one  hand,  a  pickle  in  the  other,  and  began  to  chat 
volubly  to  Alfred  of  her  school  life,  and  of  Philadelphia,  and 
the  friends  she  had  made  there.  At  length,  remarking  his  ab 
straction,  she  said:  "You  are  not  listening  to  me." 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  My  thoughts  did  wander.  I  was 
thinking  of  my  mother.  Something  about  you  reminds  me 
of  her.  I  do  not  know  what,  unless  it  is  that  little  mannerism 
you  have  of  pursing  up  your  lips  when  you  hesitate  or  stop 
to  think." 

"Tell  me  of  her,"  said  Betty,  seeing  his  softened  mood. 

"My  mother  was  very  beautiful,  and  as  good  as  she  was 
lovely.  I  never  had  a  care  until  my  father  died.  Then  she 
married  again,  and  as  I  did  not  get  on  with  my  step-father 
I  ran  away  from  home.  I  have  not  been  in  Virginia  for  four 
years." 

"Do  you  get  homesick  ?" 

"Indeed  I  do.     While  at  Fort  Pitt  I  used  to  have  spells 


$2  Betty    Zan* 

of  the  blues  which  lasted  for  days.  For  a  time  I  felt  more 
contented  here.  But  I  fear  the  old  fever  of  restlessness  will 
come  over  me  again.  I  can  speak  freely  to  you  because  1 
know  you  will  understand,  and  I  feel  sure  of  your  sympathy. 
My  father  wanted  me  to  be  a  minister.  He  sent  me  to  the 
theological  seminary  at  Princeton,  where  for  two  years  I  tried 
to  study.  Then  my  father  died.  I  went  home  and  looked 
after  things  until  my  mother  married  again.  That  changed 
everything  for  me.  I  ran  away  and  have  since  been  a  wan 
derer.  I  feel  that  I  am  not  lazy,  that  I  am  not  afraid  of 
work,  but  four  years  have  drifted  by  and  I  have  nothing  to 
show  for  it.  I  am  discouraged.  Perhaps  that  is  wrong,  but 
tell  me  how  I  can  help  it.  I  have  not  the  stoicism  of  the  hun 
ter,  Wetzel,  nor  have  I  the  philosophy  of  your  brother.  I 
could  not  be  content  to  sit  on  my  doorstep  and  smoke  my  pipe 
and  watch  the  wheat  and  corn  grow.  And  then,  this  life  of 
the  bordennan,  environed  as  it  is  by  untold  dangers,  lead? 
me,  fascinates  me,  and  yet  appalls  me  with  the  fear  that 
here  I  shall  fall  a  victim  to  an  Indian's  bullet  or  spear,  and 
find  a  nameless  grave." 

A  long  silence  ensued.  Alfred  had  spoken  quietly,  but 
with  an  undercurrent  of  bitterness  that  saddened  Betty.  For 
the  first  time  she  saw  a  shadow  of  pain  in  his  eyes.  She 
looked  away  down  the  valley,  not  seeing  the  brown  and  gold 
hills  boldly  defined  against  the  blue  sky,  nor  the  beauty  of  the 
river  as  the  setting  sun  cast  a  ruddy  glow  on  the  water.  Her 
companion's  words  had  touched  an  unknown  chord  in  her 
heart.  When  finally  she  turned  to  answer  him  a  beautiful 
light  shone  in  her  eyes,  a  light  that  shines  not  on  land  or 
sea — the  light  of  woman's  hope. 

"Mr.  Clarke,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  soft  and  low, 
"I  am  only  a  girl,  but  I  can  understand.  You  are  unhappy. 
Try  to  rise  above  it.  Who  knows  what  will  befall  this  little 
settlement?  It  may  be  swept  away  by  the  savages,  and  it 
may  grow  to  be  a  mighty  city.  It  must  take  that  chance.  So 
must  you,  so  must  we  all  take  chances.  You  are  here.  Find 
your  work  and  do  it  cheerfully,  honestly,  and  let  the  future 
take  care  of  itself.  And  let  me  say — do  not  be  offended-  - 


BcttyZanc  93 

beware  of  idleness  and  drink.  They  are  as  great  a  danger— ~ 
nay,  greater  than  the  Indians." 

"Miss  Zane,  if  you  were  to  ask  me  not  to  drink  I  would 
never  touch  a  drop  again,"  said  Alfred,  earnestly. 

"I  did  not  ask  that,"  answered  Betty,  flushing  slightly* 
"But  I  shall  remember  it  as  a  promise  and  some  day  I  may 
ask  it  of  you." 

He  looked  wonderingly  at  the  girl  beside  him.  He  had 
spent  most  of  his  life  among  educated  and  cultured  people. 
He  had  passed  several  years  in  the  backwoods.  But  wjth 
all  his  experience  with  people  he  had  to  confess  that  this 
young  woman  was  a  revelation  to  him.  She  could  ride  like  an 
Indian  and  shoot  like  a  hunter.  He  had  heard  that  she  could 
run  almost  as  swiftly  as  her  brothers.  Evidently  she  feared 
nothing,  for  he  had  just  seen  an  example  of  her  courage 
in  a  deed  that  had  tried  even  his  own  nerve,  and,  withal,  she 
was  a  bright,  happy  girl,  earnest  and  true,  possessing  all 
the  softer  graces  of  his  sisters,  and  that  exquisite  touch  of 
feminine  delicacy  and  refinement  which  appeals  more  to  men 
than  any  other  virtue. 

"Have  you  not  met  Mr.  Miller  before  he  came  here  from 
Fort  Pitt?"  asked  Betty. 

"Why  do  you  ask?" 

"I  think  he  mentioned  something  of  the  kind." 

"What  else  did  he  say?" 

"Why — Mr.  Clarke,  I  hardly  remember." 

"I  see,"  said  Alfred,  his  face  darkening.  "He  has  talked 
about  me.  I  do  not  care  what  he  said.  I  knew  him  at  Fort 
Pitt,  and  we  had  trouble  there.  I  venture  to  say  he  has  told 
no  one  about  it.  He  certainly  would  not  shine  in  the  story, 
But  I  am  not  a  tattler." 

"It  is  not  very  difficult  to  see  that  you  do  not  like  him. 
Jonathan  does  not,  either.  He  says  Mr.  Miller  \*as  friendly 
with  McKee,  and  the  notorious  Simon  Girty,  the  soldiers 
who  deserted  from  Fort  Pitt  and  went  to  the  Indians.  The 
girls  like  him,  however." 

"Usually  if  a  man  is  good  looking  and  pleasant  that  is 
enough  for  the  girls.  I  noticed  that  he  paid  you  a  great  deal 


94s  Betty    Zane 

of  attention  at  the  dance.  He  danced  three  times  with 
you." 

"Did  he?  How  observing  you  are,"  said  Betty,  giving  him 
a  little  sidelong  glance.  "Well,  he  is  very  agreeable,  and  he 
dances  better  than  many  of  the  young  men." 

"I  wonder  if  Wetzel  got  the  turkey.  I  have  heard  nr 
more  shots,"  said  Alfred,  showing  plainly  that  he  wished  to 
change  the  subject. 

"Oh,  look  there!  Quick!"  exclaimed  Betty,  pointing 
toward  the  hillside. 

He  looked  in  the  direction  .indicated  and  saw  a  doe  and  a 
spotted  fawn  wading  into  the  shallow  water.  The  mother 
stood  motionless  a  moment,  with  head  erect  and  long  ears  ex 
tended.  Then  she  drooped  her  graceful  head  and  drank 
thirstily  of  the  cool  water.  The  fawn  splashed  playfully  round 
while  its  mother  was  drinking.  It  would  dash  a  fe\y  paces 
into  the  stream  and  then  look  back  to  see  if  its  mother  ap 
proved.  Evidently  she  did  not,  for  she  would  stop  her  drink 
ing  and  call  the  fawn  back  to  her  side  with  a  soft,  crooning 
noise.  Suddenly  she  raised  her  head,  the  long  cars  shot  up, 
and  she  seemed  to  sniff  the  air.  She  waded  through  the 
deeper  water  to  get  round  a  rocky  bluff  which  ran  out  into 
the  creek.  Then  she  turned  and  called  the  little  one.  The 
fawn  waded  until  the  water  reached  its  knees,  then  stopped 
and  uttered  piteous  little  bleats.  Encouraged  by  the  soft 
crooning  it  plunged  into  the  deep  water  and  w,ith  great 
splashing  and  floundering  managed  to  swim  the.  short  dis 
tance.  Its  slender  legs  shook  as  it  staggered  up  the  bank. 
Exhausted  or  frightened,  it  shrank  close  to  its  mother.  To 
gether  they  disappeared  in  the  willows  which  fringed  thei 
side  of  the  hill. 

"Was  not  that  l,ittle  fellow  cute  ?  I  have  had  several  f awns> 
but  have  never  had  the  heart  to  keep  them,"  said  Betty. 
Then,  as  Alfred  made  no  motion  to  speak,  she  continued: 

"You  do  not  seem  very  talkative." 

"I  have  nothing  to  say.  You  will  think  me  dull.  The 
fact  is  when  I  feel  deepest  I  am  least  able  to  express  mysclr." 

"I  will  read  to  you,"  said  Betty,  taking  up  the  book.     HP 


Betty    Zane  9o 

lay  back  against  the  grassy  bank  and  gazed  dreamily  at 
the  many  hued  trees  on  the  little  hillside;  at  the  bare  rugged 
sides  of  McColloch's  Rock  which  frowned  down  upon  them. 
A  silver-breasted  eagle  sailed  slowly  round  and  round  in  the 
blue  sky,  far  above  the  bluff.  Alfred  wondered  what  mys 
terious  power  sustained  that  solitary  bird  as  he  floated  high 
in  the  air  without  perceptible  movement  of  his  broad  wings. 
He  envied  the  king  of  birds  his  reign  over  that  illimitable 
space,  his  far-reaching  vision,  and  his  freedom.  Round  and 
round  the  eagle  soared,  higher  and  higher,  with  each  per 
fect  circle,  and  at  last,  for  an  instant  poising  as  lightly  as  if 
he  were  about  to  perch  on  his  lonely  crag,  he  arched  his  wings 
and  swooped  down  through  the  air  with  the  swiftness  of  a 
falling  arrow. 

Betty's  low  voice,  the  water  rushing  so  musically  over  the 
falls,  the  great  yellow  leaves  falling  into  the  pool,  the  gentle 
breeze  stirring  the  clusters  of  goldenrod — all  came  softly  to 
Alfred  as  he  lay  there  with  half  closed  eyes. 

The  time  slipped  swiftly  by  as  only  such  time  can. 

"I  fear  the  melancholy  spirit  of  the  day  has  prevailed  upon 
you,"  said  Betty,  half  wistfully.  "You  did  not  know  I  had 
stopped  reading,  and  I  do  not  believe  you  heard  my  favorite 
poem.  I  have  tried  to  give  you  a  pleasant  afternoon  and 
have  failed." 

"No,  no,"  said  Alfred,  looking  at  her  with  a  blue  flame  in 
his  eyes.  "The  afternoon  has  been  perfect.  I  have  forgotten 
my  role,  and  have  allowed  you  to  see  my  real  self,  something 
I  have  tr.iod  to  hide  from  all." 

"And  are  you  always  sad  when  you  are  sincere?" 

"Not  always.  But  I  am  often  sad.  Is  it  any  wonder?  Is 
not  all  nature  sad?  Listen!  There  is  the  song  of  the  oriole. 
Breaking  in  on  the  stillness  it  is  mournful.  The  breeze  is 
sad,  the  brook  is  sad,  this  dying  Indian  summer  day  is  sad. 
Life  itself  (is  sad." 

"Oh,  no.     Life  is  beautiful." 

"You  are  a  child,"  said  he,  with  a  thrill  in  his  deep  voice. 
"I  hope  you  may  always  be  as  you  are  to-day,  in  heart,  at 
least." 


95  Betty    Zanc 


"It  grows  late.  See,  the  shadows  are  falling.  We  must 
go" 

"You  know  I  am  going  away  to-morrow.  I  don't  want  to 
go.  Perhaps  that  is  why  I  have  been  such  poor  company  to 
day.  I  have  a  presentiment  of  evil.  I  am  afraid  I  may  never 
corne  back." 

"I  am  sorry  you  must  go." 

"Do  you  really  mean  that?"  asked  Alfred,  earnestly,  bend 
ing  toward  her.  "You  know  it  is  a  very  dangerous  under 
taking.  Would  you  care  if  I  never  returned?53 

She  looked  up  and  their  eyes  met.  She  had  raised  her 
head  haughtily,  as  if  questioning  his  right  tc  speak  to  her 
in  that  manner,  but  as  she  saw  the  unspoken  appeal  in  his 
eyes  her  own  wavered  and  fell  while  a  warm  color  crept  into 
her  cheek. 

"Yes,  I  would  be  sorry,"  she  said,  gravely.  Then,  after 
a  moment:  "You  must  portage  the  canoe  round  the  falls,  and 
from  there  we  can  paddle  back  to  the  path." 

The  return  trip  made,  they  approached  the  house.  As 
they  turned  the  corner  they  saw  Colonel  Zane  standing  at 
the  door  talking  to  Wetzel.  They  saw  that  the  Colonel  looked 
pale  and  distressed,  and  the  face  of  the  hunter  was  dark  and 
gloomy. 

"Lew,  did  you  get  my  turkey?"  said  Betty,  after  a  mo 
ment  of  hesitation.  A  nameless  fear  filled  her  breast. 

For  answer  Wetzel  threw  back  the  flaps  of  his  coat  and 
there  at  his  belt  hung  a  small  tuft  of  black  hair.  Betty 
knew  at  once  it  was  the  scalp-lock  of  an  Indian.  Her  face 
turned  white  and  she  placed  a  hand  on  the  hunter's  arm. 

"What  do  you  mean?  That  is  an  Indian's  scalp.  Lew, 
you  look  so  strange.  Tell  me,  is  ,it  because  we  went  off  in  the 
canoe  and  have  been  in  danger?" 

"Betty,  Isaac  has  been  captured  again,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no,"  cried  Betty  in  agonized  tones,  and  wrinf 
ing  her  hands.     Then,  excitedly,  "Something  can  be  done. 
You  must  pursue  them.     Oh,  Lew,  Mr.  Clarke,  cannot  you 
rescue  him?    They  have  not  had  time  to  go  far." 

"Isaac  went  to  the  cLestnut  grove  this  morning.     If  he 


BcttyZanc  97 

had  staj-ed  there  he  would  not  have  been  captured.  But  he 
went  far  into  the  Black  Forest.  The  turkey  call  we  heard 
across  the  creek  was  made  by  a  Wyandot  concealed  in  the 
cave.  Lewis  tells  me  that  a  number  of  Indians  have  camped 
there  for  days.  He  shot  the  one  who  was  calling  and  followed 
the  others  until  he  found  where  they  had  taken  Isaac's 
trail." 

Betty  turned  to  the  younger  man  with  tearful  eyes,  and 
with  beseeching  voice  implored  them  to  save  her  brother. 

"I  am  ready  to  follow  you,"  said  Clarke  to  Wetzel. 

The  hunter  shook  his  head,  but  did  not  answer. 

"It  is  that  hateful  White  Crane,"  passionately  burst  out 
Betty,  as  the  Colonel's  wife  led  her  weeping  into  the  house. 

"Djd  you  get  more  than  one  shot  at  them?"  asked  Clarke. 

The  hunter  nodded,  and  the  slight,  inscrutable  smile  flitted 
across  his  stern  features.  He  never  spoke  of  his  deeds.  For 
this  reason  many  of  the  thrilling  adventures  which  he  must 
have  had  will  forever  remain  unrevealed.  That  evening  there 
was  sadness  at  Colonel  Zane's  supper  table.  They  felt  the 
absence  of  the  Colonel's  usual  spirits,  his  teasing  of  Betty, 
and  h,is  cheerful  conversation.  He  had  nothing  to  say.  Betty 
sat  at  the  table  a  little  while,  and  then  got  up  and  left  the 
room  saying  she  could  not  eat.  Jonathan,  on  hearing  of  his 
brother's  recapture,  did  not  speak,  but  retired  in  gloomy  si 
lence.  Silas  was  the  only  one  of  the  family  who  was  not 
utterly  depressed.  He  said  it  could  have  been  a  great  deal 
worse ;  that  they  must  make  the  best  of  it,  and  that  the  sooner 
Isaac  married  his  Indian  Princess  the  better  for  his  scalp 
and  for  the  happiness  of  all  concerned. 

"I  remember  Myeerah  very  well,"  he  said.  "It  was  eight 
years  ago,  and  she  was  only  a  child.  Even  then  she  was  very 
proud  and  willful,  and  the  loveliest  girl  I  ever  laid  eyes  on.* 

Alfred  Clarke  staid  late  at  Colonel  Zane's  that  night. 
Before  going  away  for  so  many  weeks  he  wished  to  have  a 
few  more  moments  alone  with  Betty.  But  a  favorable  oppor 
tunity  did  not  present  itself  during  the  evening,  so  when  he 
had  bade  them  all  goodbye  and  goodnight,  except  Betty,  who 
opened  the  door  for  him,  he  said  softly  to  her: 


98  Betty    Za  te 

"It  is  bright  moonlight  outside.  Come,  please,  and  valk 
to  the  gate  with  me." 

A  full  moon  shone  serenely  down  on  hill  and  dale,  flooding 
the  valley  with  its  pure  white  light,  and  bathing  the  pastures 
in  its  glory;  at  the  foot  of  the  bluff  the  waves  of  the  river 
gleamed  like  myriads  of  stars  all  twinkling  and  dancing  on 
•  a  bed  of  snowy  clouds.  Thus  illumined  the  river  wound  down 
the  valley,  its  brilliance  growing  fainter  and  fainter  until  at 
last,  resembling  the  shimmering  of  a  silver  thread  which  joined 
the  earth  to  heaven,  it  disappeared  in  the  horizon. 

"I  must  say  goodbye,"  said  Alfred,  as  they  reached  the  gate. 

"Friends  must  part.  I  am  sorry  you  must  go,  Mr.  Clarke, 
and  I  trust  you  may  return  safe.  It  seems  only  yesterday 
that  you  saved  my  brother's  life,  and  I  was  so  grateful  and 
happy.  Now  he  is  gone." 

"You  should  not  think  about  it  so  much  nor  brood  over  it," 
answered  the  young  man.  "Grieving  will  not  bring  him  back 
nor  do  you  any  good.  It  is  not  nearly  so  bad  as  if  he  had 
been  captured  by  some  other  tribe.  Wetzel  assures  us  that 
Isaac  was  taken  alive.  Please  do  not  grieve." 

"I  have  cried  until  I  cannot  cry  any  more.  I  am  so  un 
happy.  We  were  children  together,  and  I  have  always  loved 
him  better  than  any  one  since  my  mother  died.  To  have  him 
back  again  and  then  to  lose  him !  Oh !  I  cannot  bear  it." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  a  low  sob  escaped 
her. 

"Don't,  don't  grieve,"  he  said  in  an  unsteady  voice,  as  he 
took  the  little  hands  in  his  and  pulled  them  away  from  her 
face. 

Betty  trembled.  Something  in  his  voice,  a  tone  she  had 
never  heard  before  startled  her.  She  looked  up  at  him  half 
unconscious  that  he  still  held  her  hands  in  his.  Never  had 
she  appeared  so  lovely. 

"You  cannot  understand  my  feelings." 

"I  loved  my  mother." 

"But  you  have  not  lost  her.    That  makes  all  the  difference." 

"I  want  to  comfort  you  and  I  am  powerless.  I  aia  unable 
to  say  what — I —' 


Betty    Zane  99 

He  stopped  short.  As  he  stood  gazing  down  into  her  sweet 
face,  burning,  passionate  words  came  to  his  lips ;  but  he  was 
dumb;  he  could  not  speak.  All  day  long  he  had  been  living 
in  a  dream.  Now  he  realized  that  but  a  moment  remained 
for  him  to  be  near  the  girl  he  loved  so  well.  He  was  leaving 
her,  perhaps  never  to  see  her  aga.in,  or  to  return  to  find  her 
another's.  A  fierce  pain  tore  his  heart. 

"You — you  are  holding  my  hands,"  faltered  Betty,  in  &* 
doubtful,  troubled  voice.  She  looked  up  into  his  face  and 
saw  that  it  was  pale  with  suppressed  emotion. 

Alfred  was  mad  indeed.  He  forgot  everything.  In  that 
moment  the  world  held  nothing  for  him  save  that  fair  face. 
Her  eyes,  uplifted  to  his  in  the  moonlight,  beamed  with  a  soft 
radiance.  They  were  honest  eyes,  just  now  filled  with  inno 
cent  sadness  and  regret,  but  they  drew  him  with  irresistible 
power.  Without  realizing  in  the  least  what  he  was  doing 
he  yielded  to  the  impulse.  Bending  his  head  he  kissed  the 
tremulous  lips. 

"Oh,"  whispered  Betty,  standing  still  as  a  statue  and 
looking  at  him  with  wonderful  eyes.  Then,  as  reason  re 
turned,  a  hot  flush  dyed  her  face,  and  wrenching  her  hands 
free  she  struck  him  across  the  cheek. 

"For  God's  sake,  Betty,  I  did  not  mean  to  do  that  f  Wait. 
I  have  something  to  tell  you.  For  pity's  sake,  let  me  explain," 
he  cried,  as  the  full  enormity,  of  his  offence  dawned  upon 
him. 

Betty  was  deaf  to  the  imploring  voice,  for  she  ran  into  the 
house  and  slammed  the  door. 

He  called  to  her,  but  received  no  answer.  He  knocked  on 
the  door,  but  it  remained  closed.  He  stood  still  awhile,  try 
ing  to  collect  his  thoughts,  and  to  find  a  way  to  undo  the 
mischief  he  had  wrought.  When  the  real  significance  of  his 
act  came  to  him  he  groaned  in  spirit.  What  a  fool  he  had 
been !  Only  a  few  short  hours  and  he  must  start  on  a  perilous 
journey,  leaving  the  girl  he  loved  in  ignorance  of  his  real 
intentions.  Who  was  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her?  Who 
was  to  tell  her  that  it  was  because  his  whole  heart  and  soul 
)iad  gone  to  her  that  he  had  kissed  her? 


100  Betty    Zane 

With  bowed  head  he  slowly  walked  away  toward  the  fort, 
totally  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  a  young  girl,  with  hands 
pressed  tightly  over  her  breast  to  try  to  still  a  madly  beating 
heart,  watched  him  from  her  window  until  he  disappeared  into 
the  shadow  of  the  block-house. 

Alfred  paced  up  and  down  his  room  the  four  remaining 
hours  of  that  eventful  day.  When  the  light  was  breaking 
in  at  the  east  and  dawn  near  at  hand  he  heard  the  rough 
voices  of  men  and  the  tramping  of  iron-shod  hoofs.  The  hour 
of  his  departure  was  at  hand. 

He  sat  down  at  his  table  and  by  the  aid  of  the  dim  light 
from  a  pine  knot  he  wrote  a  hurried  letter  to  Betty.  A  little 
hope  revived  in  his  heart  as  he  thought  that  perhaps  all  might 
yet  be  well.  Surely  some  one  would  be  up  to  whom  he  could 
intrust  the  letter,  and  if  no  one  he  would  run  over  and  slip  it 
under  the  door  of  Colonel  Zane's  house. 

In  the  gray  of  the  early  morning  Alfred  rode  out  with  the 
daring  band  of  heavily  armed  men,  all  grim  and  stern,  each 
silent  with  the  thought  of  the  man  who  knows  he  may  never 
return.  Soon  the  settlement  was  left  far  behind. 


CHAPTER    V. 

URING  the  last  few  days,  in  which  the 
frost  had  cracked  open  the  hickory 
nuts,  and  in  which  the  squirrels  had 
been  busily  collecting  and  storing  away 
their  supply  of  nuts  for  winter  use, 
it  had  been  Isaac's  wont  to  shoulder 
his  rifle,  walk  up  the  hill,  and  spend 
the  morning  in  the  grove. 

On  this  crisp  autumn  morning  he  had 
started  off  as  usual>  and  had  been  called 
back  by  Col.  Zane,  who  advised  him  not  to  wander  far  from 
the  settlement.  This  admonition,  kind  and  brotherly  though 
it  was,  annoyed  Isaac.  Like  all  the  Zanes  he  had  born  in 
him  an  intense  love  for  the  solitude  of  the  wilderness.  There 
were  times  when  nothing  could  satisfy  him  but  the  calm  of  the 
deep  woods. 

One  of  these  moods  possessed  him  now.  Courageous  to  a 
fault  and  daring  where  daring  was  not  always  the  wiser  part, 
Isaac  lacked  the  practical  sense  of  the  Colonel  arid  the  cool 
judgment  of  Jonathan.  Impatient  of  restraint,  independent 
in  spirit,  and  it  must  be  admitted,  in  his  persistence  in  doin£ 
as  he  liked  instead  of  what  he  ought  to  do,  he  resembled  Betty 
more  than  he  did  his  brothers. 

Feeling  secure  in  hjis  ability  to  take  care  of  himself,  for 
he  knew  he  was  an  experienced  hunter  and  woodsman,  he  re 
solved  to  take  a  long  tramp  in  the  forest.  This  resolution 
was  strengthened  by  the  fact  that  he  did  not  believe  what  the 
Colonel  and  Jonathan  had  told  him — that  it  was  not  improb 
able  some  of  the  Wyandot  braves  were  lurking  in  the  vicinity, 
bent  on  killing  or  recapturing  him.  At  any  rate  he  did  no! 
fear  it. 

Once  in  the  shade  of  the  great  trees  the  fever  of  discontent 
left  him,  and,  forgetting  all  except  the  happiness  of  being 
surrounded  by  the  silent  oaks,  he  penetrated  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  forest.  The  brushing  of  a  branch  against  a  tree* 


102  Betty    Zan* 

the  thud  of  a  falling  nut,  the  dart  of  a  squirrel,  and  the  sight 
of  a  bushy  tail  disappearing  round  a  limb — all  these  things 
which  indicated  that  the  little  gray  fellows  were  working  in 
the  tree-tops,  and  which  would  usually  have  brought  Isaac  to 
a  standstill,  now  did  not  seem  to  interest  him.  At  times  he 
stooped  to  examine  the  tender  shoots  growing  at  the  foot  of 
a  sassafras  tree.  Then,  again,  he  closely  examined  marks 
he  found  in  the  soft  banks  of  the  streams. 

He  went  on  and  on.  Two  hours  of  this  still-huntinp*  found 
him  on  the  bank  of  a  shallow  gully  through  which  a  brook 
went  rippling  and  babbling  over  the  mossy  green  stones.  The 
forest  was  dense  here;  rugged  oaks  and  tall  poplars  grew 
high  over  the  tops  of  the  first  growth  of  white  oaks  and 
beeches;  the  wild  grapevines  which  coiled  round  the  trees  like 
gigantic  serpents,  spread  out  in  the  upper  branches  and  ob 
scured  the  sun ;  witch-hopples  and  laurel  bushes  grew  thickly ; 
monarchs  of  the  forest,  felled  by  some  bygone  storm,  lay 
rotting  on  the  ground;  and  in  places  the  wind-falls  were  so 
thick  and  high  as  to  be  impenetrable. 

Isaac  hesitated.  He  realized  that  he  had  plunged  far  into 
the  Black  Forest.  Here  it  was  gloomy;  a  dreamy  quiet  pre 
vailed,  that  deep  calm  of  the  wilderness,  unbroken  save  for 
the  distant  note  of  the  hermit-thrush,  the  strange  b,ird  whose 
lonely  cry,  given  at  long  intervals,  pierced  the  stillness.  Al 
though  Isaac  had  never  seen  one  of  these  birds,  he  was  famil 
iar  with  that  cry  which  was  never  heard  except  in  the  deepest 
woods,  far  from  the  haunts  of  man. 

A  black  squirrel  ran  down  a  tree  and  seeing  the  hunter 
scampered  away  in  alarm.  Isaac  knew  the  habits  of  the  blaclc 
squirrel,  that  it  was  a  denizen  of  the  wildest  woods  and  fre 
quented  only  places  remote  from  civilization.  The  song  of  the 
hermit  and  the  sight  of  the  black  squirrel  caused  Isaac  to  stop 
and  reflect,  with  the  result  that  he  concluded  he  had  gone 
much  farther  from  the  fort  than  he  had  intended.  He  turned 
to  retrace  his  steps  when  a  faint  sound  from  down  the  ravine 
came  to  his  sharp  ears. 

There  was  no  instinct  to  warn  him  that  a  hideously  painted 
face  was  raised  a  moment  over  the  clump  of  laurel  bushes  to 


Betty    Zane  103 

his  left,  and  that  a  pair  of  keen  eyes  watched  every  move 
he  made. 

Unconscious  of  impending  evil  Isaac  stopped  and  looked 
around  him.  Suddenly  above  the  musical  babble  of  the  brook 
and  the  rustle  of  the  leaves  by  the  breeze  came  a  repetition  of 
the  sound.  He  crouched  close  by  the  trunk  of  a  tree  and 
strained  his  ears.  All  was  quiet  for  some  moments.  Then  he 
heard  the  patter,  patter  of  little  hoofs  coming  down  the 
stream.  Nearer  and  nearer  they  came.  Sometimes  they  were 
almost  inaudible  and  again  he  heard  them  clearly  and  dis 
tinctly.  Then  there  came  a  splashing  and  the  faint  hollow 
sound  caused  by  hard  hoofs  striking  the  stones  in  shallow 
water.  Finally  the  sounds  ceasod. 

Cautiously  peering  from  behind  the  tree  Isaac  saw  a  doe 
standing  on  the  bank  fifty  yards  down  the  brook.  Trembling 
she  had  stopped  as  if  in  doubt  or  uncertainty.  Her  ears 
pointed  straight  upward,  and  she  lifted  one  front  foot  from 
the  ground  like  a  thoroughbred  pointer.  Isaac  knew  a  doe 
always  led  the  way  through  the  woods  and  if  there  were  other 
deer  they  would  come  up  unless  warned  by  the  doe.  Pres* 
ently  the  willows  parted  and  a  magnificent  buck  with  wide 
spreading  antlers  stepped  out  and  stood  motionless  on  the 
bank.  Although  they  were  down  the  wind  Isaac  knew  the 
deer  suspected  some  hidden  danger.  They  looked  steadily 
at  the  clump  of  laurels  at  Isaac's  left,  a  circumstance  he  re 
marked  at  the  time,  but  did  not  understand  the  real  signifi 
cance  of  until  long  afterward. 

Following  the  ringing  report  of  Isaac's  rifle  the  buck 
sprang  almost  across  the  stream,  leaped  convulsively  up  the 
bank,  reached  the  top,  and  then  his  strength  failing,  slid 
down  into  the  stream,  where,  in  his  dying  struggles,  his  hoofs 
beat  the  water  into  white  foam.  The  doe  had  disappeared 
like  a  brown  flash. 

Isaac,  congratulating  himself  on  such  a  fortunate  shot— • 
for  rarely  indeed  does  a  deer  fall  dead  in  his  tracks  even 
when  shot  through  the  heart — rose  from  his  crouching  posi 
tion  and  commenced  to  reload  his  rifle.  With  great  care  he 
poured  the  powder  into  the  palm  of  his  hand,  measuring  the 


104  BettyZane 

quantity  with  his  eye — for  it  was  an  evidence  of  a  hunter's 
skill  to  be  able  to  get  the  proper  quantity  for  the  ball.  Then 
he  put  the  charge  into  the  barrel.  Placing  a  little  greased 
linsey  rag,  about  half  an  inch  square,  over  the  muzzle,  he 
laid  a  small  lead  bullet  on  it,  and  with  the  ramrod  began  to 
push  the  ball  into  the  barrel. 

A  slight  rustle  behind  him,  which  sounded  to  him  like  the 
gliding  of  a  rattlesnake  over  the  leaves,  caused  him  to  start 
and  turn  round.  But  he  was  too  late.  A  crushing  blow  on 
the  head  from  a  club  in  the  hand  of  a  brawny  Indian  laid 
him  senseless  on  the  ground. 

When  Isaac  regained  his  senses  he  felt  a  throbbing  pain  in 
his  head,  and  when  he  opened  his  eyes  he  was  so  dizzy  that  he 
was  unable  to  discern  objects  clearly.  After  a  few  moments 
his  sight  returned.  When  he  had  struggled  to  a  sitting  pos 
ture  he  discovered  that  his  hands  were  bound  with  buckskin 
thongs.  By  his  side  he  saw  two  long  poles  of  basswood,  with 
some  strips  of  green  bark  and  pieces  of  grapevine  laced 
across  and  tied  fast  to  the  poles.  Evidently  this  had  served  as 
a  litter  on  which  he  had  been  carried.  From  his  wet  clothes 
and  the  position  of  the  sun,  now  low  in  the  west,  he  concluded 
he  had  been  brought  across  the  river  and  was  now  miles  from 
the  fort.  In  front  of  him  he  saw  three  Indians  sitting  before 
a  fire.  One  of  them  was  cutting  thin  slices  from  a  haunch  of 
deer  meat,  another  was  drinking  from  a  gourd,  and  the  third 
was  roasting  a  piece  of  venison  which  he  held  on  a  sharpened 
stick.  Isaac  knew  at  once  the  Indians  were  Wyandots,  and 
he  saw  they  were  in  full  war  paint.  They  were  not  young 
braves,  but  middle  aged  warriors.  One  of  them  Isaac  recog 
nized  as  Crow,  a  chief  of  one  of  the  Wyandot  tribes,  and  a 
warrior  renowned  for  his  daring  and  for  his  ability  to  make 
his  way  in  a  straight  line  through  the  wilderness.  Crow  was 
a  short,  heavy  Indian  and  his  frame  denoted  great  strength. 
He  had  a  broad  forehead,  high  cheek  bones,  prominent  nose, 
and  his  face  would  have  been  handsome  and  intelligent  but 
for  the  scar  which  ran  across  his  cheek,  giving  him  a  sinister 
look. 

"Hugh  P'  said  Crow,  as  he  looked  up  and  saw  Isaac  staring 


Betty    Zane  105 

at  him.  The  other  Indians  immediately  gave  vent  to  a  like 
exclamation. 

"Crow,  you  have  caught  me  again,"  said  Isaac,  in  the 
Wyandot  tongue,  which  he  spoke  fluently. 

"The  whjte  chief  is  sure  of  eye  and  swift  of  foot,  but  he 
cannot  escape  the  Huron.  Crow  has  been  five  times  on  his 
trail  since  the  moon  was  bright.  The  white  chief's  eyes  were 
shut  and  his  ears  were  deaf,"  answered  the  Indian  loftily. 

"How  long  have  you  been  near  the  fort?" 

"Two  moons  have  the  warriors  of  Myeerah  hunted  the  pale 
face." 

"Have  you  any  more  Indians  with  you?" 

The  chief  nodded  and  said  a  party  of  nine  Wyandots  had 
been  in  the  vicinity  of  Wheeling  for  a  month.  He  named 
some  of  the  warriors. 

Isaac  was  surprised  to  learn  of  the  renowned  chiefs  who 
had  been  sent  to  recapture  him.  Not  to  mention  Crow,  the 
Delaware  chiefs  Son-of-Wingenund  and  Wapatomeka  were 
among  the  most  cunning  and  sagacious  Indians  of  the  west. 
Isaac  reflected  that  his  year's  absence  from  Myeerah  had  not 
caused  her  to  forget  him. 

Crow  untied  Isaac's  hands  and  gave  him  water  and  venison. 
Then  he  picked  up  h,is  rifle  and  with  a  word  to  the  Indians 
he  stepped  into  the  underbrush  that  skirted  the  little  dale,  and 
was  lost  to  view. 

Isaac's  head  ached  and  throbbed  so  that  after  he  had  satis 
fied  his  thirst  and  hunger  he  was  glad  to  close  his  eyes  and 
lean  back  against  the  tree.  Engrossed  in  thoughts  of  the 
home  he  might  never  see  again,  he  had  lain  there  ai^hour 
without  moving,  when  he  was  aroused  from  his  meditations 
by  low  gutteral  exclamations  from  the  Indians.  Opening  his 
eyes  he  saw  Crow  and  another  Indian  enter  the  glade,  leading 
and  half  supporting  a  third  savage. 

They  helped  this  Indian  to  the  log,  where  he  sat  down 
slowly  and  wearily,  holding  one  hand  over  his  breast.  He 
was  a  magnificent  specimen  of  Indian  manhood,  almost  a  giant 
in  stature,  with  broad  shoulders  in  proportion  to  his  height. 
His  head-dress  and  the  gold  rings  which  encircled  his  bare 


106  Betty    Zane 

muscular  arms  indicated  that  he  was  a  chief  high  in  power. 
The  seven  eagle  plumes  in  his  scalp-lock  represented  seven 
warriors  that  he  had  killed  in  battle.  Little  sticks  of  wood 
plaited  in  his  coal  black  hair  and  painted  different  colors 
showed  to  an  Indian  eye  how  many  times  this  chief  had  been 
wounded  by  bullet,  knife,  or  tomahawk. 

His  face  was  calm.  If  he  suffered  he  allowed  no  sign  of  it 
to  escape  him.  He  gazed  thoughtfully  into  the  fire,  slowly 
the  while  untying  the  belt  which  contained  his  knife  and  toma 
hawk.  The  weapons  were  raised  and  held  before  him,  one 
hi  each  hand,  and  then  waved  on  high.  The  action  was  re 
peated  three  times.  Then  slowly  and  reluctantly  the  Indian 
lowered  them  as  if  he  knew  their  work  on  earth  was  done. 

It  was  growing  dark  and  the  bright  blaze  from  the  camp 
fire  lighted  up  the  glade,  thus  enabling  Isaac  to  see  the  droop 
ing  figure  on  the  log,  and  in  the  background  Crow,  holding 
a  whispered  consultation  with  the  other  Indians.  Isaac  heard 
enough  of  the  colloquy  to  guess  the  facts.  The  chief  had 
been  desperately  wounded;  the  palefaces  were  on  their  trajl, 
and  a  march  must  be  commenced  at  once. 

Isaac  knew  the  wounded  chief.  He  was  the  Delaware  Son- 
of-Wingenund.  He  married  a  Wyandot  squaw,  had  spent 
much  of  his  time  in  the  Wyandot  village  and  on  warring  ex 
peditions  which  the  two  friendly  nations  made  on  other  tribes. 
Isaac  had  hunted  with  him,  slept  under  the  same  blanket  w.ith 
him,  and  had  grown  to  like  him. 

As  Isaac  moved  slightly  in  his  position  the  chief  saw  him. 
He  straightened  up,  threw  back  the  hunting  shirt  and  pointed 
to  a  small  hole  in  h,is  broad  breast.  A  slender  stream  of  blood 
issued  from  the  wound  and  flowed  down  his  chest. 

"Wind-of-Death  is  a  great  white  chief.  His  gun  is  always 
loaded,"  he  said  calmly,  and  a  look  of  pride  gleamed  across 
his  dark  face,  as  though  he  gloried  in  the  wound  made  by  such 
a  warrior. 

"Deathwind"  was  one  of  the  many  names  given  to  Wetzel 
by  the  savages,  and  a  thrill  of  hope  shot  through  Isaac's 
heart  when  he  saw  the  Indians  feared  Wetzel  was  on  their 
track.  This  hope  was  short  lived,  however,  for  when  he  con- 


Betty    Zane  107 

sidered  the  probabilities  of  the  thing  he  knew  that  pursuit 
would  only  result  in  his  death  before  the  settlers  could  come 
up  with  the  Indians,  and  he  concluded  that  Wetzel,  familiar 
with  every  trick  of  the  redmen  would  be  the  first  to  think  of 
the  hopelessness  of  rescuing  him  and  so  would  not  attempt  it. 

The  four  Indians  now  returned  to  the  fire  and  stood  beside 
the  chief.  It  was  evident  to  them  that  his  end  was  imminent. 
'He  sang  in  a  low,  not  unmusical  tone  the  death-chant  cf  the 
Hurons.  His  companions  silently  bowed  their  heads.  When 
he  had  finished  singing  he  slowly  rose  to  his  great  height, 
showing  a  commanding  figure.  Slowly  his  features  lost  their 
stern  pride,  his  face  softened,  and  his  dark  eyes,  gczing 
straight  into  the  gloom  of  the  forest,  bespoke  a  superhuman 
vision. 

"Wingenund  has  been  a  great  chief.  He  has  crossed  his  last 
trail.  The  deeds  of  Wingenund  will  be  told  in  the  wigwams 
of  the  Lenape,'?  said  the  chief  in  a  loud  voice,  and  then  sank 
back  into  the  arms  of  his  comrades.  They  laid  him  gently 
down. 

A  convulsive  shudder  shook  the  stricken  warrior's  frame. 
Then,  starting  up  he  straightened  out  his  long  arm  and 
clutched  wildly  at  the  air  with  his  sinewy  fingers  as  if  to  grasp 
and  hold  the  life  that  was  escaping  him. 

Isaac  could  see  the  fixed,  sombre  light  in  the  eyes,  and  the 
pallor  of  death  stealing  over  the  face  of  the  chief.  He 
turned  his  eyes  away  from  the  sad  spectacle,  and  when  he 
looked  again  the  majestic  figure  lay  still. 

The  moon  sailed  out  from  behind  a  cloud  and  shed  its 
mellow  light  down  on  the  little  glade.  It  showed  the  four 
Indians  digging  a  grave  beneath  the  oak  tree.  No  word  was 
spoken.  They  worked  with  their  tomahawks  on  the  soft  duff 
and  soon  their  task  was  completed.  A  bed  of  moss  and  ferns 
lined  the  last  resting  place  of  the  chief.  His  weapons  were 
placed  beside  him,  to  go  with  him  to  the  Happy  Hunting 
Ground,  the  eternal  home  of  the  redmen,  where  the  redmen 
believe  the  sun  will  always  shine,  and  where  they  will  be  free 
from  their  cruel  white  foes. 

When  the  grave  had  been  filled  and  the  log  rolled  on  it  the 


108  Betty    Zanc 

Indians  stood  by  it  a  moment,  each  speaking  a  few  words  in  a 
low  tone,  while  the  night  wind  moaned  the  dead  chieFs  re 
quiem  through  the  tree  tops. 

Accustomed  as  Isaac  was  to  the  bloody  conflicts  common 
to  the  Indians,  and  to  the  tragedy  that  surrounded  the  life  of 
a  borderman,  the  ghastly  sight  had  unnerved  him.  The  last 
glimpse  of  that  stern,  dark  face,  of  that  powerful  form,  as 
the  moon  brightened  up  the  spot  in  seeming  pity,  he  felt  he 
could  never  forget.  His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  the 
harsh  voice  of  Crow  bidding  him  get  up.  He  was  told  that  the 
slightest  inclination  on  his  part  to  lag  behind  on  the  march 
before  them,  or  in  any  way  to  make  their  trail  plainer,  would 
be  the  signal  for  his  death.  With  that  Crow  cut  the  thongs 
which  bound  Isaac's  legs  and  placing  him  between  two  of  the 
Indians,  led  the  way  into  the  forest. 

Moving  like  spectres  in  the  moonlight  they  marched  on  and 
on  for  hours.  Crow  was  well  named.  He  led  them  up  the 
stony  ridges  where  their  footsteps  left  no  mark,  and  where 
even  a  dog  could  not  find  their  trail;  down  into  the  valleys 
and  .into  the  shallow  streams  where  the  running  water  would 
soon  wash  away  all  trace  of  their  tracks ;  then  out  on  the  open 
plain,  where  the  soft,  springy  grass  retained  little  impress 
of  their  moccasins. 

Single  file  they  marched  in  the  leader's  tracks  as  he  led  them 
onward  through  the  dark  forests,  out  under  the  shining  moon, 
never  slacking  his  rapid  pace,  ever  in  a  straight  line,  and 
yet  avoiding  the  roughest  going  with  that  unerring  instinct 
which  was  this  Indian's  gift.  Toward  dawn  the  moon  went 
down,  leaving  them  in  darkness,  but  this  made  no  difference, 
for,  guided  by  the  stars,  Crow  kept  straight  on  his  course. 
Not  till  break  of  day  did  he  come  to  a  halt. 

Then,  on  the  banks  of  a  narrow  stream,  the  Indians  kindled 
a  fire  and  broiled  some  of  the  venison.  Crow  told  Isaac  he 
could  rest,  so  he  made  haste  to  avail  himself  of  the  permission, 
and  almost  instantly  was  wrapped  in  the  deep  slumber  of  ex 
haustion.  Three  of  the  Indians  followed  suit,  and  Crow  stood 
guard.  Sleepless,  tireless,  he  paced  to  and  fro  on  the  bank 
his  keen  eyes  vigilant  for  signs  of  pursuers. 


Betty    Zane  109 

The  sun  was  high  when  the  party  resinned  their  flight  to 
ward  the  west.  Crow  plunged  into  the  brook  and  waded  sev 
eral  miles  before  he  took  to  the  woods  on  the  other  shore,, 
Isaac  suffered  severely  from  the  sharp  and  slippery  stones, 
which  in  no  wise  bothered  the  Indians.  His  feet  were  cut  and 
bruised;  still  he  struggled  on  without  complaining.  They 
rested  part  of  the  night,  and  the  next  day  the  Indians,  now 
deeming  themselves  practically  safe  from  pursuit,  did  not 
exercise  unusual  care  to  conceal  their  trail. 

That  evening  about  dusk  they  came  to  a  rapidly  flowing 
stream  which  ran  northwest.  Crow  and  one  of  the  other  In 
dians  parted  the  willows  on  the  bank  at  this  point  and  dragged 
forth  a  long  birch-bark  canoe  which  they  ran  into  the  stream. 
Isaac  recognized  the  spot.  It  was  near  the  head  of  Mad 
River,  the  river  which  ran  through  the  Wyandot  settle 
ments. 

Two  of  the  Indians  took  the  bow,  the  third  Indian  and 
Isaac  sat  in  the  middle,  back  to  back,  and  Crow  knelt  in  the 
stern.  Once  launched  on  that  wild  ride  Isaac  forgot  his  wear 
iness  and  his  bruises.  The  night  was  beautiful;  he  loved  the 
water,  and  was  not  lacking  in  sentiment.  He  gave  himseJf 
up  to  the  charm  of  the  silver  moonlight,  of  the  changing  scen 
ery,  and  the  musical  gurgle  of  the  water.  Had  it  not  been  foi 
the  cruel  face  of  Crow,  he  could  have  imagined  himself  on  one 
of  those  enchanted  canoes  in  fairyland,  of  which  he  had  read 
when  a  boy.  Ever  varying  pictures  presented  themselves  a3 
the  ~anoe,  impelled  by  vigorous  arms,  flew  over  the  shining 
bosom  of  the  stream.  Here,  in  a  sharp  bend,  was  a  narrow 
place  where  the  trees  on  each  bank  interlaced  their  branches 
and  hid  the  moon,  making  a  dark  and  dim  retreat.  Ther 
came  a  short  series  of  ripples,  with  merry,  bouncing  waves 
and  foamy  currents ;  below  lay  a  long,  smooth  reach  of  water, 
deep  and  placid,  mirroring  the  moon  and  the  countless  stars* 
Noiseless  as  a  shadow  the  canoe  glided  down  this  stretch,  the 
paddle  dipping  regularly,  flashing  brightly,  and  scattering 
diamond  drops  in  the  clear  moonlight. 

Another  turn  in  the  stream  and  a  sound  like  the  roar  of  an 
approaching  storm  as  it  is  borne  on  a  rising  wind,  broke  the 


110  Betty    Zanc 

silence.  It  was  the  roar  of  rapids  or  falls.  The  stream  nar 
rowed  ;  the  water  ran  swifter ;  rocky  ledges  rose  on  both  sides, 
gradually  getting  higher  and  higher.  Crow  rose  to  his  feet 
and  looked  ahead.  Then  he  dropped  to  his  knees  and  turned 
the  head  of  the  canoe  into  the  middle  of  the  stream.  The 
roar  became  deafening.  Looking  forward  Isaac  saw  that  they 
were  entering  a  dark  gorge.  In  another  moment  the  canoe 
pitched  over  a  fall  and  shot  between  two  high,  rocky  bluffs. 
These  walls  ran  up  almost  perpendicularly  two  hundred  feet ; 
the  space  between  was  scarcely  twenty  feet  wide,  and  the 
water  fairly  screamed  as  it  rushed  madly  through  its  narrow 
passage.  In  the  center  it  was  like  a  glancing  sheet  of  glass, 
weird  and  dark,  and  was  bordered  on  the  sides  by  white, 
seething  foam-capped  waves  which  tore  and  dashed  and 
leaped  at  their  stony  confines. 

Though  the  danger  was  great,  though  Death  lurked  in 
those  jagged  stones  and  in  those  black  walls  Isaac  felt  no  fear; 
he  knew  the  strength  of  that  arm,  now  rigid  and  again  mov 
ing  with  lightning  swiftness ;  he  knew  the  power  of  the  eye 
which  guided  them. 

Once  more  out  under  the  starry  sky ;  rifts,  shallows,  narrows, 
and  lake-like  basins  were  passed  swiftly.  At  length  as  the 
sky  was  becoming  gray  in  the  east,  they  passed  into  the 
shadow  of  what  was  called  the  Standing  Stone.  This  was  a 
peculiarly  shaped  stone-faced  bluff,  standing  high  over  the 
river,  and  taking  its  name  from  Tarhe,  or  Standing  Stone, 
chief  of  all  the  Hurons. 

At  the  first  sight  of  that  well  known  landmark,  which  stood 
by  the  Wyandot  village,  there  mingled  with  Isaac's  despon 
dency  and  resentment  some  other  feeling  that  was  akin  to 
pleasure;  with  a  quickening  of  the  pulse  came  a  confusion 
of  expectancy  and  bitter  memories  as  he  thought  of  the  dark 
eyed  maiden  from  whom  he  had  fled  a  year  ago. 

"Co-wee-Co-wee,"  called  out  one  of  the  Indians  in  the  bow 
of  the  canoe.  The  signal  was  heard,  for  immediately  an 
answering  shout  came  from  the  shore. 

When  a  few  moments  later  the  canoe  grated  softly  upon 
a  pebbly  beach,  Isaac  saw,  indistinctly  in  the  morning  mist. 


Betty    Zane  111 

the  faint  outlines  of  tepees  and  wigwams,  and  he  knew  he  was 
once  more  in  the  encampment  of  the  Wyandots. 


Late  in  the  afternoon  of  that  day  Isaac  was  awakened 
from  his  heavy  slumber  and  told  that  the  chief  haft  summoned 
him.  He  got  up  from  the  buffalo  robes  upon  which  he  had 
flung  himself  that  morning,  stretched  his  aching  Hmbs9  and 
walked  to  the  door  of  the  lodge. 

The  view  before  him  was  so  familiar  that  it  soemed  as  if 
he  had  suddenly  come  home  after  being  absent  .  long  time. 
The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  shone  ruddy  and  bright  over 
the  top  of  the  Standing  Stone;  they  touched  the  scores  of 
lodges  and  wigwams  which  dotted  the  little  valley ;  they  crim 
soned  the  swift,  narrow  river,  rushing  noisily  over  its  rocky 
bed.  The  banks  of  the  stream  were  lined  with  rows  of  canoes ; 
here  and  there  a  bridge  made  of  a  single  tree  spanned  the 
stream.  From  the  camp  fires  long,  thin  columns  of  blue  smoke 
curled  lazily  upward;  giant  maple  trees,  in  their  garb  of  pur 
ple  and  gold,  rose  high  above  the  wigwams,  ad' ling  a  further 
beauty  to  this  peaceful  scene. 

As  Isaac  was  led  down  a  lane  between  twc  long  lines  of 
tepees  the  watching  Indians  did  not  make  the  demonstration 
that  usually  marked  the  capture  of  a  paleface.  Some  of  the 
old  squaws  looked  up  from  the.ir  work  round  the  campfires 
and  steaming  kettles  and  grinned  as  the  prisoner*  passed.  The 
braves  who  were  sitting  upon  their  blankets  and  smoking  their 
long  pipes,  or  lounging  before  the  warm  blazes  maintained, 
a  stolid  indifference;  the  dusky  maidens  smiled  shyly,  and 
the  little  Indian  boys,  with  whom  Isaac  had  always  been  a 
great  favorite,  manifested  their  joy  by  yelling  #«d  running 
after  him.  One  youngster  grasped  Isaac  round  the  leg  and 
held  on  until  he  was  pulled  away. 

In  the  center  of  the  village  were  several  lodges  connected 
with  one  another  and  larger  and  more  imposing  than  the  sur 
rounding  tepees.  These  were  the  wigwams  of  the  chief,  and 
thither  Isaac  was  conducted.  The  guards  led  him  to  a  large 
and  circular  apartment  and  left  Kim  there  alone.  This  room 


112  Betty    Zanc 

was  the  council-room.     It  contained  nothing  but  a  low  seat 
and  a  knotted  war-club. 

Isaac  heard  the  rattle  of  beads  and  bear  claws,  and  as  he 
turned  a  tall  and  majestic  Indian  entered  the  room.  It  was 
Tarhe,  the  chief  of  all  the  Wyandots.  Though  Tarhe  was 
over  seventy,  he  walked  erect ;  his  calm  face,  dark  as  a  bronze 
mask,  showed  no>  trace  of  his  advanced  age.  Every  line  and 
feature  of  his  face  had  race  in  it ;  the  high  forehead,  the  square, 
protruding  jaw,  the  stern  mouth,  the  falcon  eyes — all  denoted 
the  pride  and  unbending  will  of  the  last  of  the  Tarhes. 

"The  White  Eagle  is  again  in  the  power  of  Tarhe,"  said 
the  chief  in  his  native  tongue.  "Though  he  had  the  swiftness 
of  the  bounding  deer  or  the  flight  of  the  eagle  it  would  avail 
him  not.  The  wild  geese  as  they  fly  northward  are  not  swifter 
than  the  warriors  of  Tarhe.  Swifter  than  all  is  the  vengeance 
of  the  Huron.  The  young  paleface  has  cost  the  lives  of  some 
great  warriors.  What  has  he  to  say?" 

"It  was  not  my  fault,"  answered  Isaac  quickly.  "I  was 
struck  down  from  behind  and  had  no  chance  to  use  a  weapon. 
I  have  never  raised  my  hand  against  a  Wyandot.  Crow  will 
tell  you  that.  If  my  people  and  friends  kill  your  braves  I 
am  not  to  blame.  Yet  I  have  had  good  cause  to  shed  Huron 
blood.  Your  warriors  have  taken  me  from  my  home  and  have 
wounded  me  many  times." 

"The  White  Chief  speaks  well.  Tarhe  believes  his  words," 
answered  Tarhe  in  his  sonorous  voice.  "The  Lenapee  seek  the 
death  of  the  pale  face.  Wingenund  grieves  for  his  son.  He 
is  Tarhe's  friend.  Tarhe  is  old  and  wise  and  he  is  king  here 
He  can  save  the  White  Chief  from  Wingenund  and  Corn, 
planter.  Listen.  Tarhe  is  old  and  he  has  no  son.  He  wiL 
make  you  a  great  chief  and  give  you  lands  and  braves  and 
honors.  He  shall  not  ask  you  to  raise  your  hand  against 
your  people,  but  help  to  bring  peace.  Tarhe  does  not  love 
this  war.  He  wants  only  justice.  He  wants  only  to  keep 
his  lands,  his  horses,  and  his  people.  The  White  Chief  is 
known  to  be  brave ;  his  step  is  light,  his  eye  is  keen,  and  his 
bullet  is  true.  For  many  long  moons  Tarhe's  daughter  has 
been  like  the  singing  bird  without  its  mate.  She  sings  no 


THE  WILD  NIGHT  RIDE. 


Betty    Zane  113 

more.  She  shall  be  the  White  Chief's  wife.  She  has  the 
blood  of  her  mother  and  not  that  of  the  last  of  the  Tarhes. 
Thus  the  mistakes  of  Tarhe's  youth  come  to  disappoint  his 
old  age.  He  is  the  friend  of  the  young  paleface.  Tarhe  has 
said.  Now  go  and  make  your  peace  with  Myeerah." 

The  chief  motioned  toward  the  back  of  the  lodge.  Isaac 
stepped  forward  and  went  through  another  large  room,  evi 
dently  the  chief's,  as  it  was  fitted  up  with  a  wild  and  barbaric 
splendor.  Isaac  hesitated  before  a  bearskin  curtain  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  chief's  lodge.  He  had  been  there  many 
times  before,  but  never  with  such  conflicting  emotions.  What 
was  it  that  made  his  heart  beat  faster?  With  a  quick  move 
ment  he  lifted  the  curtain  and  passed  under  it. 

The  room  which  he  entered  was  circular  in  shape  and  fur 
nished  with  all  the  bright  colors  and  luxuriance  known  to  the 
Indian.  Buffalo  robes  covered  the  smooth,  hard -packed  clay 
floor;  animals,  allegorical  pictures,  and  fanciful  Indian  de 
signs  had  been  painted  on  the  wall;  bows  and  arrows,  shields, 
strings  of  bright-colored  beads  and  Indian  scarfs  hung 
round  the  room.  The  wall  was  made  of  dried  deerskins  sewed 
together  and  fastened  over  long  poles  which  were  planted  in 
the  ground  and  bent  until  the  ends  met  overhead.  An  oval- 
shaped  opening  let  in  the  light.  Through  a  narrow  aperture, 
which  served  as  a  door  leading  to  a  smaller  apartment,  could 
be  seen  a  low 'couch  covered  with  red  blankets,  and  a  glimpse 
of  many  hued  garments  hanging  on  the  wall. 

As  Isaac  entered  the  room  a  slender  maiden  ran  impulsively 
to  him  and  throwing  her  arms  round  his  neck  hid  her  face  on 
his  breast.  A  few  broken,  incoherent  words  escaped  her  lipse 
Isaac  disengaged  himself  from  the  clinging  arms  and  put 
her  from  him.  The  face  raised  to  his  was  strikingly  beautiful. 
Oval  in  shape,  it  was  as  white  as  his  own,  with  a  broad,  low 
brow  and  regular  features.  The  eyes  were  large  and  dark 
ai,d  they  dilated  and  quickened  with  a  thousand  shadows  of 
thought. 

"Myeerah,  I  am  taken  again.  This  time  there  has  been 
blood  shed.  The  Delaware  chief  was  killed,  and  I  do  not 
\now  how  many  more  Indians.  The  chiefs  are  all  for  putting 


1U  Betty    Zanc 

me  to  death.  I  am  in  great  danger.  Why  could  you  not 
leave  me  in  peace?" 

At  his  first  words  the  maiden  sighed  and  turned  sorrowfully 
and  proudly  a^vvay  from  the  angry  face  of  the  young  man. 
A  short  silence  ensued. 

"Then  you  are  not  glad  to  see  Myeerah?"  she  said,  in  En 
glish.  Her  voice  was  music.  It  rang  low,  sweet,  clear-toned 
as  a  bell. 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  Under  some  circumstances 
I  would  be  glad  to  see  you.  But  to  be  dragged  back  here 
and  perhaps  murdered — no,  I  don't  welcome  it.  Look  at  this 
mark  where  Crow  hit  me,"  said  Isaac,  passionately,  bowing 
his  head  to  enable  her  to  see  the  bruise  where  the  club  had 
•truck  him. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Myeerah,  gently. 

"I  know  that  I  am  in  great  danger  from  the  Delawares." 

"The  daughter  of  Tarhe  has  saved  your  life  before  and  will 
save  it  again." 

"They  may  kill  me  in  spite  of  you." 

"They  will  not  dare.  Do  not  forget  that  I  saved  yon  from 
the  Shawnees.  What  did  my  father  say  to  you?" 

"He  assured  me  that  he  was  my  friend  and  that  he  would 
protect  me  from  Wingenund.  But  I  must  marry  you  and 
become  one  of  the  tribe.  I  cannot  do  that.  And  that  i*  why 
I  am  sure  they  will  kill  me." 

"You  are  angry  now.  I  will  tell  you.  Myeerah  tried  hard 
to  win  your  love,  and  when  you  ran  away  from  her  she  wa£ 
proud  for  a  long  time.  But  there  was  no  singing  of  birds,  no 
music  of  the  waters,  no  beauty  in  anything  after  you  left 
her.  Life  became  unbearable  without  you.  Then  Myeerah 
remembered  that  she  was  a  daughter  of  kings.  She  sum 
moned  the  bravest  and  greatest  warriors  of  two  tribes  and 
said  to  them.  'Go  and  bring  to  me  the  paleface,  White  Eagle. 
Bring  him  to  me  alive  or  dead.  If  alive,  Myeerah  will  smile 
once  more  upon  her  warriors.  If  dead,  she  will  look  once 
upon  his  face  and  dje.'  Ever  since  Myeerah  was  old  enough 
to  remember  she  has  thought  of  you.  Would  you  wish  her 
to  be  inconstant,  like  the  moon?9' 


Betty    Zane  115 

"It  is  not  what  I  wish  you  to  be.     It  is  that  I  cannot  live 
'*. always  without  seeing  my  people.     I  told  you  that  a  year 


•  "You  told  me  other  things  in  that  past  time  before  you  ran 
away.  They  were  tender  words  that  were  sweet  to  the  ear  of 
the  Indian  maiden.  Have  you  forgotten  them?" 

"I  have  not  forgotten  them.     I  am  not  without  feeling. 
You  do  not  understand.    Since  I  have  been  home  this  last  time' 
I  have  realized  more  than  ever  that  I  could  not  live  away  from 
my  home." 

"Is  th°re  any  maiden  in  your  old  home  whom  you  have 
learned  fo  love  more  than  Myeerah?" 

He  did  not  reply,  but  looked  gloomily  out  of  the  opening 
in  the  wall.  Myeerah  had  placed  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and 
as  he  did  not  answer  the  hand  tightened  its  grasp. 

"She  shall  never  have  you." 

The  low  tones  vibrated  with  intense  feeling,  with  a  death 
less  resolve.  Isaac  laughed  bitterly  and  looked  up  at  her. 
Myeerah's  face  was  pale  and  her  eyes  burned  like  fire. 

"I  should  not  be  surprised  if  you  gave  me  up  to  the  Dela- 
wares,"  said  Isaac,  coldly.  "I  am  prepared  for  it,  and  I 
would  not  care  very  much.  I  have  despaired  of  your  ever 
becoming  civilized  enough  to  understand  the  misery  of  my 
sister  and  family.  Why  not  let  the  Indians  kill  me?" 

He  knew  how  to  wound  her.  A  quick,  shuddering  cry  broke 
from  her  lips.  She  stood  before  him  with  bowed  head  and 
wept.  When  she  spoke  again  her  voice  was  broken  and  plead 
ing. 

"You  are  cruel  and  unjust.  Though  Myeerah  has  Indian1 
blood  she  is  a  white  woman.  She  can  feel  as  your  people  do. 
In  your  anger  and  bitterness  you  forget  that  Myeerah  saved 
you  from  the  knife  of  the  Shawnees.  You  forget  her  tender 
ness  ;  you  forget  that  she  nursed  you  when  you  were  wounded. 
Myeerah  has  a  heart  to  break.  Has  she  not  suffered?  Is  sht 
not  laughed  at,  scorned,  called  a  'paleface'  by  the  other  tribes? 
She  thanks  the  Great  Spirit  for  the  Indian  blood  that  keeps 
her  true.  )^The  white  man  changes  his  loves  and  his  wives. 
That  is  not  an  Indian  gift." 

4 


Betty    Zane 

"No,  Myeerah,  I  did  not  say  so.  There  is  no  other  woman. 
It  is  that  I  am  wretched  and  sick  at  heart.  Do  you  not  see 
that  this  will  end  in  a  tragedy  some  day?  Can  you  not  realize 
that  we  would  be  happier  if  you  would  let  me  go?  If  you 
love  me  you  would  not  want  to  see  me  dead.  If  I  do  not 
marry  you  they  will  kill  me ;  if  I  try  to  escape  again  they  will 
kill  me.  Let  me  go  free." 

"I  cannot!  I  cannot!"  she  cried.  "You  have  taught  me 
many  of  the  ways  of  your  people,  but  you  cannot  change  my 
nature." 

"Why  cannot  you  free  me?" 

"I  love  you,  and  I  will  not  live  without  you." 

"Then  come  and  go  to  my  home  and  live  there  with  me," 
said  Isaac,  taking  the  weeping  maiden  in  his  arms.  "I  know 
that  my  people  will  welcome  you." 

"Myeerah  would  be  pitied  and  scorned,"  she  said,  sadly, 
shaking  her  head. 

Isaac  tried  hard  to  steel  his  heart  against  her,  but  he  was 
only  mortal  and  he  failed.  The  charm  of  her  presence  in 
fluenced  him;  her  Lvt>  wru+jg  tenderness  from  him.  Those 
dark  eyes,  so  proud  to  all  others,  but  which  gazed  wistfully 
and  yearningly  into  his,  stirred  his  heart  to  its  depths.  He 
kissed  the  tear-wet  cheeks  and  smiled  upon  her. 

"Well,  since  I  am  a  prisoner  once  more,  I  must  make  the 
best  of  it.  Do  not  look  so  sad.  We  shall  talk  of  this  another 
day.  Come,  let  us  go  and  find  my  little  friend,  Captain  Jack. 
He  remembered  me,  for  he  ran  out  and  grasped  my  knee  and 
they  pulled  him  away." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

HEN  the  first  French  explorers  in 
vaded  the  northwest,  about  the  year 
1615,  the  Wyandot  Indians  occu 
pied  the  territory  between  Georgian 
Bay  and  the  Muskoka  Lakes  in  On 
tario.  These  Frenchmen  named  the 
tribe  Huron  because  of  the  manner 
in  which  they  wore  their  hair. 

At  this  period  the  Hurons  were  at 
war  with  the  Iroquois,  and  the  two 
fribes  kept  up  a  bitter  fight  until  in  1649,  when  the  Hurons 
suffered  a  decisive  defeat.  They  then  abandoned  their  vil* 
lages  and  sought  other  hunting  grounds.  They  travelled 
south  and  settled  in  Ohio  along  the  south  and  west  shores  of 
Lake  Erie.  The  present  site  of  Zanesfield,  named  from  Isaac 
Zane,  marks  the  spot  where  the  largest  tribe  of  Hurons  once 
lived. 

In  a  grove  of  maples  on  the  banks  of  a  swift  little  river 
named  Mad  River,  the  Hurons  bujlt  their  lodges  and  their 
wigwams.  The  stately  elk  and  graceful  deer  abounded  in 
this  fertile  valley,  and  countless  herds  of  bison  browsed  upon 
the  uplands. 

There  for  many  years  the  Hurons  lived  a  peaceful  and 
contented  life.  The  long  war  cry  was  not  heard.  They  were 
at  peace  with  the  neighboring  tribes.  Tarhe,  the  Huron 
chief,  attained  great  influence  with  the  Delawares.  He  be 
came  a  friend  of  Logan,  the  Mingo  chief. 

With  the  invasion  of  the  valley  of  the  Ohio  by  the  whites, 
with  the  march  into  the  wilderness  of  that  wild-turkey  breed 
of  heroes  of  which  Boone,  Kenton,  the  Zanes,  and  the  Wetzels 
were  the  first,  the  Indian's  nature  gradually  changed  until 
he  became  a  fierce  and  relentless  foe. 

The  Hurons  had  sided  with  the  French  in  Pontiac's  war, 
and  in  the  Revolution  they  aided  the  British.  They  allied 
themselves  with  the  Mingoes,  Delawares  and  Shawnees  and 

117 


118  Betty    Zanc 

made  a  fierce  war  on  the  Virginian  pioneers.  Some  powerful 
influence  must  have  engendered  this  implacable  hatred  in 
these  tribes,  particularly  in  the  Mingo  and  the  Wyandot. 

The  war  between  the  Indians  and  the  settlers  along  the 
Pennsylvania  and  West  Virginia  borders  was  known  as  "Dun- 
rnore's  War."  The  Hurons,  Mingoes,  and  Delawares  living  in 
the  "hunter's  paradise"  west  of  the  Ohio  River,  seeing  their 
land  sold  by  the  Iroquois  and  the  occupation  of  their  posses 
sions  by  a  daring  band  of  white  men  naturally  were  filled 
with  fierce  anger  and  hate.  But  remembering  the  past  bloody 
war  and  British  punishment  they  slowly  moved  backward  to 
ward  the  setting  sun  and  kept  the  peace.  In  1774  a  canoe 
filled  with  friendly  Wyandots  was  attacked  by  white  men  be 
low  Yellow  Creek  and  the  Indians  were  killed.  Later  the 
same  year  a  party  of  men  under  Colonel  Cresop  made  an  un 
provoked  and  dastardly  massacre  of  the  family  and  relatives 
of  Logan.  This  attack  reflected  thev  deepest  dishonor  upon 
all  the  white  men  concerned,  and  was  the  principal  cause  of 
the  long  and  bloody  war  which  followed.  The  settlers  on  the 
border  sent  messengers  to  Governor  Dunmore  at  Williams- 
burg  for  immediate  relief  parties.  Knowing  well  that  the  In 
dians  would  not  allow  this  massacre  to  go  unavenged  the 
frontiersmen  erected  forts  and  blockhouses. 

Logan,  the  famous  Mingo  chief,  had  been  a  noted  friend 
of  the  white  men.  After  the  murder  of  his  people  he  made 
ceaseless  war  upon  them.  He  incited  the  wrath  of  the  Hurons 
and  the  Delawares.  He  went  on  the  warpath,  and  when  his 
lust  for  vengeance  had  been  satisfied  he  sent  the  following 
remarkable  address  to  Lord  Dunmore : 

"I  appeal  to  any  white  man  to  say  if  ever  he  entered  Lo 
gan's  cabin  and  he  gave  him  not  meat;  if  ever  he  came  cold 
and  naked  and  he  clothed  him  not.  During  the  course  of  the 
last  long  and  bloody  war  Logan  remained  idle  in  his  cabin, 
An  advocate  of  peace.  Such  was  my  love  for  the  whites  that 
my  countrymen  pointed  as  they  passed  and  said:  'Logan  is 
the  friend  of  the  white  man.'  I  had  even  thought  to  have 
lived  with  you  but  for  the  injuries  of  one  man,  Colonel  Cresop, 
'rho,  last  spring,  in  cold  blood  and  unprovoked,  murdered  all 


Betty    Zane  119 

the  relatives  of  Logan,  not  even  sparing  my  women  and  chil 
dren.  There  runs  not  a  drop  of  my  blood  in  the  veins  of  any 
living  creature.  This  called  upon  me  for  vengeance.  I 
have  sought  it;  I  have  killed  many;  I  have  glutted  my  ven 
geance.  For  my  country  I  will  rejoice  at  the  beams  of  peace. 
But  do  not  harbor  a  thought  that  mine  is  the  joy  of  fear. 
Logan  never  felt  fear;  he  would  not  turn  upon  his  heel  to 
save  his  life.  Who  is  there  to  mourn  for  Logan?  Not  one." 
The  war  between  the  Indians  and  the  pioneers  was 
waged  for  years.  The  settlers  pushed  farther  and  farther 
into  the  wilderness.  The  Indians,  who  at  first  sought  only 
to  save  their  farms  and  their  stock,  now  fought  for  revenge. 
That  is  why  every  ambitious  pioneer  who  went  out  upon  those 
borders  carried  his  life  in  his  hands;  why  there  was  always 
the  danger  of  being  shot  or  tomahawked  from  behind  every 
tree;  why  wife  and  children  were  constantly  in  fear  of  the 
terrible  enemy. 

To  creep  unawares  upon  a  foe  and  strike  him  in  the  dark 
was  Indian  warfare ;  to  an  Indian  it  was  not  dishonorable ;  it 
was  not  cowardly.  He  was  taught  to  hide  in  the  long  grass 
like  a  snake,  to  shoot  from  coverts,  to  worm  his  way  stealthily 
through  the  dense  woods  and  to  ambush  the  paleface's  trail. 
Horrible  cruelties,  such  as  torturing  white  prisoners  and  burn 
ing  them  at  the  stake  were  never  heard  of  before  the  war  made 
upon  the  Indians  by  the  whites. 

Comparatively  little  is  known  of  the  real  character  of  the 
Indian  of  that  time.  We  ourselves  sit  before  our  warm  fires 
and  talk  of  the  deeds  of  the  redman.  We  while  away  an  hour 
by  reading  Pontiac's  siege  of  Detroit,  of  the  battle  of  Brad- 
dock's  fields,  and  of  Ouster's  last  charge.  We  lay  the  book 
down  with  a  fervent  expression  of  thankfulness  that  the  day 
of  the  horrible  redman  is  past.  Because  little  has  been  written 
on  the  subject,  no  thought  is  given  to  the  long  years  of  deceit 
and  treachery  practiced  upon  Pontiac;  we  are  ignorant  of 
the  causes  which  led  to  the  slaughter  of  Braddock's  army; 
and  we  know  little  of  the  life  of  bitterness  suffered  by  Sitting 
Bull. 

Many  intelligent  white  men,  who  were  acquainted  with  the 


120  Betty    Zane 

true  life  of  the  Indian  before  he  was  harrassed  and  driven  to 
desperation  by  the  pioneers,  said  that  he  had  been  cruelly 
wronged.  Many  white  men  in  those  days  loved  the  Indian 
life  so  well  that  they  left  the  settlements  and  lived  with  the 
Indians.  Boone,  who  knew  the  Indian  nature,  said  the  honesty 
and  the  simplicity  of  the  Indian  were  remarkable.  Ken- 
ton  said  he  had  been  happy  among  the  Indians.  Col.  Zane 

lad  many  Indian  friends.  Isaac  Zane,  who  lived  most  of  his 
\ife  with  the  Wyandots,  said  the  American  redman  had  been 
wrongfully  judged  a  bloodthirsty  savage,  an  ignorant,  thiev 
ing  wretch,  capable  of  not  one  virtue.  He  said  the  free  pic 
turesque  life  of  the  Indians  would  have  appealed  to  any  white 
man ;  that  it  had  a  wonderful  charm ;  and  that  before  the  war 
with  the  whites  the  Indians  were  kind  to  their  prisoners,  and 
sought  only  to  make  Indians  of  them.  He  told  tales  of  how 
easily  white  boys  become  Indianized,  so  attached  to  the  wild 
life  and  freedom  of  the  redmen  that  it  was  impossible  to  get 
the  captives  to  return  to  civilized  life.  The  boys  had  been 
permitted  to  grow  wild  with  the  Indian  lads ;  to  fish  and  shoot 
and  swim  with  them ;  to  play  the  Indian  games — to  live  idle, 
joyous  lives.  He  said  these  white  boys  had  been  ransomed 
and  taken  from  captivity  and  returned  to  their  homes  and. 
although  a  close  watch  was  kept  on  them,  they  contrived  to 
escape  and  return  to  the  Indians,  and  that  while  they  were 
back  among  civilized  people  it  was  difficult  to  keep  the  boys 
dressed.  In  summer  time  it  was  useless  to  attempt  it.  The 
strongest  hemp-linen  shirts,  made  with  the  strongest  collar 
and  wrist-band,  would  directly  be  torn  off  and  the  little  rascals 
''ound  swimming  in  the  river  or  rolling  on  the  sand. 

If  we  may  believe  what  these  men  have  said — and  there 

eems  no  good  reason  why  we  may  not — the  Indian  was  very 
different  from  the  impression  given  of  him.  There  can  be 
little  doubt  that  the  redman  once  lived  a  noble  and  blameless 
life ;  that  he  was  simple,  honest  and  brave ;  that  he  had  a  re 
gard  for  honor  and  a  respect  for  a  promise  far  exceeding  that 
of  most  white  men.  Think  of  the  beautiful  poetry  and  legends 
left  by  these  silent  men :  men  who  were  a  part  of  the  woods ; 
jnen  whose  music  was  the  sighing  of  the  wind,  the  rustling  of 


Betty    zane  121 

the  leaf,  the  murmur  of  the  brook;  men  whose  simple  joys 
were  the  chase  of  the  stag,  and  the  light  in  the  dark  eye  of 
a  maiden. 

If  we  wish  to  find  the  highest  type  of  the  American  Indian 
we  must  look  for  him  before  he  was  driven  west  by  the  land- 
seeking  pioneer  and  before  he  was  degraded  by  the  rum- 
selling  French  trader. 

The  French  claimed  all  the  land  watered  by  the  Mississippi 
.River  and  its  tributaries;  The  French  Canadian  was  a  rest 
less,  roaming  adventurer  and  he  found  his  vocation  in  the 
fur-tra^c.  This  fur-trade  engendered  a  strange  class  of  men 
— bush-rangers  they  were  called — whose  work  wras  to  paddle 
the  canoe  along  the  lakes  and  streams  and  exchange  their 
cheap  rum  for  the  valuable  furs  of  the  Indians.  To  these  men 
the  Indians  of  the  west  owe  their  degradation.  These  bush 
rangers  or  coureurs-des-bois,  perverted  the  Indians  and  sank 
into  barbarism  with  them. 

The  few  travellers  there  in  those  days  were  often  surprised 
to  find  in  the  wigwams  of  the  Indians  men  who  acknowledged 
the  blood  of  France,  yet  who  had  lost  all  semblance  to  the 
white  man.  They  lived  in  their  tepee  with  their  Indian  squaws 
and  lolled  on  their  blankets  while  the  squaws  cooked  their 
venison  and  did  all  the  work.  They  let  their  hair  grow  long 
and  wore  feathers  in  it;  they  painted  their  faces  hideously 
with  ochre  and  vermilion. 

These  were  the  worthless  traders  and  adventurers  who,  from 
the  year  1748  to  1783,  encroached  on  the  hunting  grounds 
of  the  Indians  and  explored  the  wilderness,  seeking  out  the 
remote  tribes  and  trading  the  villainous  rum  for  the  rare  pelts. 
Tn  1784  the  French  authorities,  realizing  that  these  vagrants 
were  demoralizing  the  Indians,  warned  them  to  get  aff  the 
soil.  Finding  this  course  ineffectual  they  arrested  those  that 
could  be  apprehended  and  sent  them  to  Canada.  But  it  was 
too  late :  the  harm  had  been  done ;  the  poor,  ignorant  savage 
had  tasted  of  the  terrible  "fire-water,"  as  he  called  the  runij 
and  his  ruin  was  inevitable. 

It  was  a  singular  fact  that  almost  every  Indian  who  had 
once  tasted  strong  drink,  was  unable  to  resist  the  desire  for 


Betty    Zane 

more.  When  a  trader  came  to  one  of  the  Indian  hamlets  the 
braves  purchased  a  keg  of  rum  and  then  they  held  a  council 
to  see  who  was  to  get  drunk  and  who  was  to  keep  sober.  It 
was  necessary  to  have  some  sober  Indians  in  camp,  otherwise 
the  drunken  braves  would  kill  one  another.  The  weapons 
would  have  to  be  concealed.  When  the  Indians  had  finished 
one  keg  of  rum  they  would  buy  another,  and  so  en  until  no* 
a  beaver-skin  was  left.  Then  the  trader  would  move  or 
When  the  Indians  sobered  up  they  would  be  much  dejected, 
for  invariably  they  would  find  that  some  had  been  ^younded, 
others  crippled,  and  often  several  had  been  killed. 

Logan,  using  all  his  eloquence,  travelled  from  village  to 
Village  visiting  the  different  tribes  and  making  speeches.  He 
Urged  the  Indians  to  shun  the  dreaded  "fire-water."  He  ex 
claimed  against  the  whites  for  introducing  liquor  to  the  In 
dians  and  thus  debasing  them.  At  the  same  time  Logan  ad 
mitted  his  own  fondness  for  rum.  This  intelligent  and  noble 
Indian  was  murdered  in  a  drunken  fight  shortly  after  sending 
his  address  to  Lord  Dunmore. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  poor  Indians  had  no  chance  to  avert 
the.ir  downfall;  the  steadily  increasing  tide  of  land-stealing 
settlers  rolling  westward,  and  the  insiduous,  debasing,  soul- 
destroying  liquor  were  the  noble  redman's  doom. 

********* 

Isaac  Zane  dropped  back  not  altogether  unhappily  into  his 
old  place  in  the  wigwam,  in  the  hunting  parties,  and  in  the 
Indian  games. 

When  the  braves  were  .in  camp,  the  greater  part  of  the  day 
was  spent  in  shooting  and  running  matches,  in  canoe  races,  in 
wrestling,  and  in  the  game  of  ball.  The  chiefs  and  the  older 
braves  who  had  won  their  laurels  and  the  maidens  of  the  tribe 
looked  on  and  applauded. 

Isaac  entered  into  all  these  pastimes,  partly  because  he  had 
a  natural  love  for  them,  and  partly  because  he  wished  to  win 
the  regard  of  the  Indians.  In  wrestling,  and  in  those  sports 
which  required  weight  and  endurance,  he  usually  suffered  de 
feat.  In  a  foot  race  there  was  not  a  brave  in  the  entire  tribe 
who  could  keep  even  with  him.  But  it  was  with  the  rifle  that 


Betty    Zane 

Isaac  won  his  greatest  distinction.  The  Indians  never  learned 
the  finer  shooting  with  the  rifle.  Some  few  of  them  could 
shoot  well,  but  for  the  most  part  they  were  poor  marksmen. 

Accordingly,  Isaac  was  always  taken  on  the  fall  hunt* 
Every  autumn  there  were  three  parties  sent  out  to  bring  in 
the  supply  of  meat  for  the  winter.  Because  of  Isaac's  fine 
marks manship  he  was  always  taken  with  the  bear  hunters* 
Bear  hunting  was  exciting  and  dangerous  work.  Before  the 
weather  got  very  cold  and  winter  actually  set  in  the  bears 
crawled  into  a  hole  in  a  tree  or  a  cave  in  the  rocks,  where 
they  hibernated.  A  favorite  place  for  them  was  in  hollow 
trees.  When  the  Indians  found  a  tree  with  the  scratches  of 
a  bear  on  it  and  a  hole  large  enough  to  admit  the  body  of  a 
bear,  an  Indian  climbed  up  the  tree  and  with  a  long  pole 
tried  to  punch  Bruin  out  of  his  den.  Often  this  was  a  hazard 
ous  undertaking,  for  the  bear  would  get  angry  on  being  dis« 
turbed  in  his  winter  sleep  and  would  rush  out  before  the  In 
dian  could  reach  a  place  of  safety.  At  times  there  were  even 
two  or  three  bears  in  one  den.  Sometimes  the  bear  would  re 
fuse  to  come  out,  and  on  these  occasions,  which  wrere  rare,  the 
hunters  would  resort  to  fire.  A  piece  of  dry,  rotten  wood 
was  fastened  to  a  long  pde  and  was  set  on  fire.  When  this 
was  pushed  in  on  the  bear  he  would  give  a  sniff  and  a  growl 
and  come  out  in  a  hurry. 

The  buffalo  and  elk  were  hunted  with  the  bow  and  arrow. 
This  effective  weapon  did  not  make  a  noise  and  frighten  the 
game.  The  wary  Indian  crawled  through  the  high  grass  until 
within  easy  range  and  sometimes  killed  several  buffalo  or  elk 
before  the  herd  became  alarmed.  The  meat  was  then  jerked. 
This  consisted  in  cutting  it  into  thin  strips  and  drying  it  in 
the  sun.  Afterwards  it  was  hung  up  in  the  lodges.  The 
skins  were  stretched  on  poles  to  dry,  and  when  cured  they 
served  as  robes,  clothing  and  wigwam-coverings. 

The  Indians  were  fond  of  honey  and  maple  sugar.  The 
finding  of  a  hive  of  bees,  or  a  good  run  of  maple  syrup  was 
an  occasion  for  general  rejoicing.  They  found  the  honej 
in  hollow  trees,  and  they  obtained  the  maple  sugar  in  twt 
ways.  When  the  sap  came  up  in  the  maple  trees  a  hole  was 


bored  in  the  trees  about  a  foot  from  the  ground  and  a  small 
tube,  usually  made  from  a  piece  of  alder,  was  inserted  in  the 
hole.  Through  this  the  sap  was  carried  into  a  vessel  which 
was  placed  under  the  tree.  This  sap  was  boiled  down  in  ket 
tles.  If  the  Indians  had  no  kettles  they  made  the  frost  take 
the  place  of  heat  in  preparing  the  sugar.  They  used  shallow 
vessels  made  of  bark,  and  these  were  filled  with  water  and  the 
maple  sap.  It  was  left  to  freeze  over  night  and  in  the 
morning  the  ice  was  broken  and  thrown  away.  The  sugar  did 
not  freeze.  When  this  process  had  been  repeated  several  times 
the  residue  was  very  good  maple  sugar. 

Isaac  did  more  than  his  share  toward  the  work  of  pro 
visioning  the  village  for  the  winter.  But  he  enjoyed  it.  He 
was  particularly  fond  of  fishing  by  moonlight.  Early  No 
vember  was  the  best  season  for  this  sport,  and  the  Indians 
caught  large  numbers  of  fish.  They  placed  a  torch  in  the 
bow  of  a  canoe  and  paddled  noiselessly  over  the  stream.  In 
the  clear  water  a  bright  light  would  so  attract  and  fascinate 
the  fish  that  they  would  lie  motionless  near  the  bottom  of  the 
shallow  stream. 

One  cold  night  Isaac  was  in  the  bow  of  the  canoe.  Seeing 
a  large  fish  he  whispered  to  the  Indians  with  him  to  exercise 
caution.  His  guides  paddled  noiselessly  through  the  water. 
Isaac  stood  up  and  raised  the  spear,  ready  to  strike.  In  an 
other  second  Isaac  had  cast  the  iron,  but  in  his  eagerness 
he  overbalanced  himself  and  plunged  head  first  into  the  icy 
current,  making  a  great  splash  and  spoiling  any  further  fish 
ing.  Incidents  like  this  were  a  source  of  infinite  amusement 
to  the  Indians. 

Before  the  autumn  evenings  grew  too  cold  the  Indian 
held  their  courting  dances.  All  unmarried  maidens  and  braves 
in  the  village  were  expected  to  take  part  in  these  dances.  In 
the  bright  light  of  huge  fires,  and  watched  by  the  chiefs,  the 
old  men,  the  squaws,  and  the  children,  the  maidens  and  the 
braves,  arrayed  in  their  gaudiest  apparel,  marched  into  the 
circle.  They  formed  two  lines  a  few  paces  apart.  Each  held 
in  the  right  hand  a  dry  gourd  which  contained  pebbles.  Ad 
vancing  toward  one  another  they  sang  the  courting  song, 


Betty    Zane  1£5 

keeping  time  to  the  tune  with  the  rattling  of  the  pebbles. 
When  they  met  in  the  center  the  braves  bent  forward  and 
whispered  a  word  to  the  maidens.  At  a  certain  point  in  the 
song,  which  was  indicated  by  a  louder  note,  the  maidens  would 
change  their  positions,  and  this  was  continued  until  every 
brave  had  whispered  to  every  maiden,  when  the  dance  ended. 

Isaac  took  part  in  all  these  pleasures ;  he  entered  into  every 
phase  of  the  Indian's  life;  he  hunted,  worked,  played,  danced, 
and  sang  with  faithfulness.  But  when  the  long,  dreary 
winter  days  came  with  their  ice-laden  breezes,  enforcing  idle 
ness  on  the  Indians,  he  became  restless.  Sometimes  for  days 
he  would  be  morose  and  gloomy,  keeping  beside  his  own  tent 
and  not  mingling  with  the  Indians.  At  such  times  Myeerah 
did  not  question  him. 

Even  in  his  happier  hours  his  diversions  were  not  many. 
He  never  tired  of  watching  and  studying  the  Indian  chil 
dren.  When  he  had  an  opportunity  without  being  observed, 
wliich  was  seldom,  he  amused  himself  with  the  papooses.  The 
Indian  baby  was  strapped  to  a  flat  piece  of  wood  and  covered 
with  a  broad  flap  of  buckskin.  The  squaws  hung  these  prim 
itive  baby  carriages  up  on  the  pole  of  a  tepee,  on  a  branch 
of  a  tree,  or  threw  them  round  anywhere.  Isaac  never  heard 
a  papoose  cry.  He  often  pulled  down  the  flap  of  buckskin 
and  looked  at  the  solemn  little  fellow,  who  would  stare  up  at 
him  with  big,  wondering  eyes. 

Isaac's  most  intimate  friend  was  a  six-year-old  Indian  boy, 
whom  he  called  Captain  Jack.  He  was  the  son  of  Thunder 
cloud,  the  war-chief  of  the  Hurons.  Jack  made  a  brave  pic 
ture  in  his  buckskin  hunting  suit  and  his  war  bonnet.  Already 
lie  could  stick  tenaciously  on  the  back  of  a  racing  mustangt 
and  with  his  little  bow  he  could  place  arrow  after  arrow  in 
the  center  of  the  target.  Knowing  Captain  Jack  would  some 
day  be  a  mighty  chief,  Isaac  taught  him  to  speak  English. 
He  endeavored  to  make  Jack  love  him,  so  that  when  the  lad 
should  grow  to  be  a  man  he  would  remember  his  white  brother 
and  sho*v  mercy  to  the  prisoners  who  fell  into  his  power. 

Another  of  Isaac's  favorites  was  a  half-breed  Ottawa  In 
dian,  a  distant  relative  of  Tarhe's.  This  Indian  was  very 


126  Betty    Zane 

old ;  no  one  knew  how  old ;  his  face  was  seamed  and  scarred 
and  wrinkled.  Bent  and  shrunken  was  his  form.  He  slept 
most  of  the  time,  but  at  long  intervals  he  would  brighten  up 
and  tell  of  his  prowess  when  a  warrior. 

One  of  his  favorite  stories  was  of  the  part  he  had  taken  in 
the  events  of  that  fatal  and  memorable  July  2,  1755,  when 
Gen.  Braddock  and  his  English  army  were  massacred  by  the 
French  and  Indians  near  Fort  Duquesne. 

The  old  chief  told  how  Beaujeu  with  his  Frenchmen  and 
his  five  hundred  Indians  ambushed  Braddock's  army,  sur 
rounded  the  soldiers,  fired  from  the  ravines,  the  trees,  the  long 
grass,  poured  a  pitiless  hail  of  bullets  on  the  bewildered  Brit 
ish  soldiers,  who,  unaccustomed  to  this  deadly  and  unseen 
foe,  huddled  under  the  trees  like  herds  of  frightened  sheep, 
and  were  shot  down  with  hardly  an  effort  to  defend  them 
selves. 

The  old  chief  related  that  fifteen  years  after  that  battle 
he  went  to  the  Kanawha  settlement  to  see  the  Big  Chief,  Gen. 
George  Washington,  who  was  travelling  on  the  Kanawha.  He 
told  Gen.  Washington  how  he  had  fought  in  the  battle  of 
Braddock's  Fields;  how  he  had  shot  and  killed  Gen.  Brad- 
dock;  how  he  had  fired  repeatedly  at  Washington,  and  had 
killed  two  horses  under  him,  and  how  at  last  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  Washington  was  protected  by  the  Great  Spirit 

who  destined  him  for  a  great  future. 

******** 

Myeerah  was  the  Indian  name  for  a  rare  and  beautiful 
bird — the  white  crane — commonly  called  by  the  Indians, 
Walk-in-the- Water.  It  had  been  the  name  of  Tarhe's  mother 
and  grandmother.  The  present  Myeerah  was  the  daughter  of 
a  French  woman,  who  had  been  taken  captive  at  a  very  early 
age,  adopted  into  the  Huron  tribe,  and  married  to  Tarhe. 
The  only  child  of  this  union  was  Myeerah.  She  grew  to  be 
a  beautiful  woman  and  was  known  in  Detroit  and  the  Canadian 
forts  as  Tarhe's  white  daughter.  The  old  chief  often  visited  the 
towns  along  the  lake  shore,  and  so  proud  was  he  of  Myeerah 
that  he  always  had  her  accompany  him.  White  men  travelled 
far  to  look  at  the  Indian  beauty.  Many  French  soldiers 


Betty    Zane  127 

wooed  her  in  vain.  Once,  while  Tarhe  was  in  Detroit,  a  noted 
French  family  tried  in  every  way  to  get  possession  of 
Myeerah. 

The  head  of  this  family  believed  he  saw  in  Myeerah  the 
child  of  his  long  lost  daughter.  Tarhe  hurried  away  from  the 
r.ity  and  never  returned  to  the  white  settlement. 

Myeerah  was  only  five  years  old  at  the  time  of  the  capture 
of  the  Zane  brothers  and  it  was  at  this  early  age  that  she 
formed  the  attachment  for  Isaac  Zane  which  clung  to  her  all 
her  life.  She  was  seven  when  the  men  came  from  Detroit  to 
ransom  the  brothers,  and  she  showed  such  grief  when  she 
learned  that  Isaac  was  to  be  returned  to  his  people  that  Tarhe 
refused  to  accept  any  ransom  for  Isaac.  As  Myeerah  grew 
older  her  childish  fancy  for  the  white  boy  deepened  into  an 
intense  love. 

But  while  this  love  ^dndered  her  inexorable  to  Isaac  on  the 
question  of  giving  him  his  freedom,  it  undoubtedly  saved  his 
life  as  well  as  the  lives  jf  other  white  prisoners,  on  more  than 
one  occasion. 

To  the  white  captives  who  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Hurons, 
she  was  kind  and  merciful;  many  of  the  wounded  she  had 
tended  with  her  own  hands,  and  many  poor  wretches  she  had 
saved  from  the  gauntlet  and  the  stake.  When  her  efforts 
to  persuade  her  father  to  save  any  one  were  unavailing  she 
would  retire  in  sorrow  to  her  lodge  and  remain  there. 

Her  infatuation  for  the  White  Eagle,  the  Huron  name  for 
Isaac,  was  an  old  story ;  it  was  known  to  all  the  tribes  and  had 
long  ceased  to  be  questioned.  At  first  some  of  the  Delawares 
and  the  Shawnee  braves,  who  had  failed  to  win  M}7eerah's 
iove,  had  openly  scorned  her  for  her  love  for  the  pale  face. 
The  Wyandot  warriors  to  a  man  worshipped  her;  they  would 
have  marched  straight  into  the  jaws  of  death  at  her  com 
mand;  they  resented  the  insults  which  had  been  cast  on  their 
princess,  and  they  had  wiped  them  out  in  blood:  now  none 
dared  taunt  her. 

In  the  spring  following  Isaac's  recapture  a  very  serious 
accident  befell  him.  He  had  become  expert  in  the  Indian 
game  of  ball,  which  is  a  game  resembling  the  Canadian  la- 


128  Betty    Zane 

crosse,  and  from  which,  in  fact,  it  had  been  adopted.  Goals 
were  placed  at  both  ends  of  a  level  plain.  Each  party  of  In 
dians  chose  a  goal  which  they  endeavored  to  defend  and  at 
the  same  time  would  try  to  carry  the  ball  over  their  oppo 
nent's  line. 

A  well  contested  game  of  Indian  ball  presented  a  scene  of 
wonderful  effort  and  excitement.  Hundreds  of  strong  and 
supple  braves  could  be  seen  running  over  the  plain,  darting 
this  way  and  that,  or  struggling  in  a  yelling,  kicking,  fighting 
mass,  all  in  a  mad  scramble  to  get  the  ball. 

As  Isaac  had  his  share  of  the  Zane  swiftness  of  foot,  at 
times  his  really  remarkable  fleetness  enabled  him  to  get  con 
trol  of  the  ball.  In  front  of  the  band  of  yelling  savages  he 
would  carry  it  down  the  field,  and  evading  the  guards  at  the 
goal  would  throw  it  between  the  posts.  This  was  a  feat  of 
which  any  brave  could  be  proud. 

During  one  of  these  games  Red  Fox,  a  Wyandot  brave, 
who  had  long  been  hopelessly  in  love  with  Myeerah,  and  who 
cordially  hated  Isaac,  used  this  opportunity  for  revenge. 
Red  Fox,  who  was  a  swift  runner,  had  vied  with  Isaac  for  the 
honors,  but  being  defeated  in  the  end,  he  had  yielded  to  his 
jealous  frenzy  and  had  struck  Isaac  a  terrible  blow  on  the 
head  with  his  bat. 

It  happened  to  be  a  glancing  blow  or  Isaac's  life  would 
have  been  ended  then  and  there.  As  it  was  he  had  a  deep 
gash  in  his  head.  The  Indians  carried  him  to  his  lodge  and 
the  medicine  men  of  the  tribe  were  summoned. 

When  Isaac  recovered  consciousness  he  asked  for  Myeerah 
and  entreated  her  not  to  punish  Red  Fox.  He  knew  that 
such  a  course  would  only  increase  his  difficulties,  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  if  he  saved  the  life  of  the  Indian  who  had  struck 
him  in  such  a  cowardly  manner  such  an  act  would  appeal 
favorably  to  the  Indians.  His  entreaties  had  no  effect  on 
Myeerah,  who  was  furious,  and  who  said  that  if  Red  Fox, 
who  had  escaped,  ever  returned  he  would  pay  for  his  unpro 
voked  assault  with  his  life,  even  if  she  had  to  kill  him  herself. 
Isaac  knew  that  Myeerah  would  keep  her  word.  He  dreaded 
svery  murning  that  the  old  squaw  who  prepared  his  meals 


Betty    Zane  129 

would  bring;  him  the  news  that  his  assailant  had  been  slain. 

o 

Red  Fox  was  a  popular  brave,  and  there  were  many  Indians 
who  believed  the  blow  he  had  struck  Isaac  was  not  intentional 
Isaac  worried  needlessly,  however,  for  Red  Fox  never  came 
back,  and  nothing  could  be  learned  as  to  his  wherabouts. 

It  was  during  his  convalescence  that  Isaac  learned  really 
to  love  the  Indian  maiden.  She  showed  such  distress  in  the 
first  days  after  nis  injury,  and  such  happiness  when  he  was* 
out  of  danger  and  on  the  road  to  recovery  that  Isaac  won 
dered  at  her.  She  attended  him  with  anxious  solicitude; 
when  she  bathed  and  bandaged  his  wound  her  every  touch 
was  a  tender  caress ;  she  sat  by  him  for  hours ;  her  low  voice 
made  soft  melody  as  she  sang  the  Huron  love  songs.  The 
moments  were  sweet  to  Isaac  when  in  the  gathering  twilight 
she  leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder  while  they  listened  to  the 
evening  carol  of  the  whip-poor-will.  Days  passed  and  at 
length  Isaac  was  entirely  well.  One  day  when  the  air  was 
laden  v/ith  the  warm  breath  of  summer  Myeerah  and  Isaa* 
walked  by  the  river. 

"You  are  sad  again,"  said  Myeerah. 

"I  am  homesick.  I  want  to  see  my  people.  Myeerah,  yo^ 
have  named  me  rightly.  The  Eagle  can  never  be  happy  un 
less  he  is  free." 

"The  Eagle  can  be  happy  with  his  mate.  And  what  life 
could  be  freer  than  a  Huron's?  I  hope  always  that  you  will 
grow  content." 

"It  has  been  a  long  time  now,  Myeerah,  since  I  have  spoken 
with  you  of  my  freedom.  Will  you  ever  free  me?  Or  must 
I  take  again  those  awful  chances  of  escape?  I  cannot  always 
live  here  in  this  way.  Some  day  I  shall  be  killed  while  trying1 
to  get  away,  and  then,  if  you  truly  love  me,  you  will  never 
forgive  yourself." 

"Does  not  Myeerah  truly  love  you?"  she  asked,  gazing 
straight  into  his  eyes,  her  own  misty  and  sad. 

"I  do  not  doubt  that,  but  I  think  sometimes  that  it  is  not 
the  right  kind  of  love.  It  is  too  savage.  No  man  should  be 
made  a  prisoner  for  no  other  reason  than  that  he  is  loved 
by  a  woman.  I  have  tried  to  teach  you  many  things;  the 


130  Betty    Zane 

language  of  my  people*  their  ways  and  thoughts,  but  I  have 
failed  to  civilize  you.  I  cannot  make  you  understand  that  it 
is  unwomanly — do  not  turn  away.  I  am  not  indifferent.  I 
have  learned  to  care  for  you.  Your  beauty  and  tenderness 
have  made  anything  else  impossible." 

"Myeerah  is  proud  of  her  beauty,  if  it  pleases  the  Eagle. 
Her  beauty  and  her  love  are  his.  Yet  the  Eagle's  words 
make  Myeerah  sad.  She  cannot  tell  what  she  feels.  The 
pale  face's  words  flow  swiftly  and  smoothly  like  rippling 
waters,  but  Myeerah's  heart  is  full  and  her  lips  are  dumb." 

Myeerah  and  Isaac  stopped  under  a  spreading  elm  tree 
the  branches  of  which  drooped  over  and  shaded  the  river. 
The  action  of  the  high  water  had  worn  away  the  earth  round 
the  roots  of  the  old  elm,  leaving  them  bare  and  dry  when 
the  stream  was  low.  As  though  Nature  had  been  jealous  ,in 
the  interest  of  lovers,  she  had  twisted  and  curled  the  roots 
into  a  curiouslv  shaped  bench  just  above  the  water,  which  was 
Becluded  enough  to  escape  all  eyes  except  those  of  the  beaver 
and  the  muskrat.  The  bank  above  was  carpeted  with  fresh, 
dewy  grass;  blue  bells  and  violets  hid  modestly  under  their 
dark  green  leaves;  delicate  ferns,  like  wonderful  fairy  lace, 
lifted  their  dainty  heads  to  sway  in  the  summer  breeze.  In 
this  qu,iet  nook  the  lovers  passed  many  hours. 

"Then,  if  my  White  Chief  has  learned  to  care  for  me,  he 
must  not  try  to  escape,"  whispered  Myeerah,  tenderly,  as  she 
crept  into  Isaac's  arms  and  laid  her  head  on  his  breast.  "I 
love  you.  I  love  you.  What  will  become  of  Myeerah  if  you 
leave  her?  Could  she  ever  be  happy?  Could  she  ever  forget? 
No,  no,  I  will  keep  my  captive." 
i  "I  cannot  persuade  you  to  let  me  go?" 

"If  I  free  you  I  will  come  and  lie  here,"  cried  Myeerah, 
point  ins:  to  the  dark  pool. 

"Then  come  with  me  to  my  home  and  live  there." 

"Go  with  you  to  the  village  of  the  pale  faces,  where 
Myeerah  would  be  scorned,  pointed  at  as  .your  captor, 
laughed  at  and  pitied?  No!  No!" 

"But  you  would  not  be,"  said  Isaac,  eagerly.  "You  would 
be  my  wife.  My  sister  and  people  will  love  you.  Come, 


Betty    Zane  131 

Myeerah,  save  me  from  this  bondage;  come  home  with  me 
and  I  will  make  you  happy.*' 

"It  can  never  be,"  she  said,  sadly,  after  a  long  pause, 
"How  would  we  ever  reach  the  fort  by  the  big  river?  Tarhe 
loves  his  daughter  and  will  not  give  her  up.  If  we  tried  to 
get  away  the  braves  would  overtake  us  and  then  even  Myeerab 
could  not  save  your  life.  You  would  be  killed.  I  dare  not 
try.  No,  no,  Myeerah  loves  too  well  for  that.'9 

"You  might  make  the  attempt,"  said  Isaac,  turning  away 
in  bitter  disappointment.  "If  you  loved  me  you  could  not 
see  me  suffer." 

"Never  say  that  again,"  cried  Myeerah,  pain  and  scorn  in 
her  dark  eyes.  "Can  an  Indian  Princess  who  has  the  blood 
of  great  chiefs  in  her  veins  prove  her  love  in  any  way  that 
she  has  not?  Some  day  you  will  know  that  you  wrong  me. 
I  am  Tarhe's  daughter.  A  Huron  does  not  lie." 

They  slowly  wended  their  way  back  to  the  camp,  botli 
miserable  at  heart ;  Isaac  longing  to  see  his  home  and  f  riendSf 
and  yet  with  tenderness  in  his  heart  for  the  Indian  maiden 
who  would  not  free  him ;  Myeerah  with  pity  and  love  for  him, 
and  a  fear  that  her  long  cherished  dream  could  never  be  re 
alized. 

One  dark,  stormy  night,  when  the  rain  beat  down  in  tor 
rents  and  the  swollen  river  raged  almost  to  its  banks,  Isaac 
slipped  out  of  h.is  lodge  unobserved  and  under  cover  of  the 
pitchy  darkness  he  got  safely  between  the  lines  of  tepees  to 
the  river.  He  had  just  the  opportunity  for  which  he  had 
been  praying.  He  plunged  into  the  water  and  floating  down 
with  the  swift  current  he  soon  got  out  of  sight  of  the  flicker^ 
ing  camp  fires.  Half  a  mile  below  he  left  the  water  and  ran 
along  the  bank  until  he  came  to  a  large  tree,  a  landmark  he 
remembered,  wheu  he  turned  abruptly  to  the  east  and  struck 
out  through  the  dense  woods.  He  travelled  due  east  all  that 
night  and  the  next  day  without  resting,  and  with  nothing  to 
eat  except  a  small  piece  of  jerked  buffalo  meat  which  he  had 
taken  the  precaution  to  hide  in  his  hunting  shirt.  He  rested 
part  of  the  second  night  and  next  morning  pushed  on  toward 
the  east.  He  had  expected  to  reach  the  Ohio  that  day,  but 


Betty    Zane 

he  did  not  and  he  noticed  that  the  ground  seemed  to  be 
gradually  rising.  He  did  not  come  across  any  swampy 
&nds  or  saw  grass  or  vegetation  characteristic  of  the  low 
lands.  He  stopped  and  tried  to  get  his  bearings.  The  coun 
try  was  unknown  to  him,  but  he  believed  he  knew  the  general 
lay  of  the  ridges  and  the  water-courses. 

The  fourth  day  found  Isaac  hopelessly  lost  in  the  woods. 
He  was  famished,  having  eaten  but  a  few  herbs  and  berries  in 
the  last  two  days ;  his  buckskin  garments  were  torn  ,in  tatters ; 
his  moccasins  were  worn  out  and  his  feet  lacerated  by  the 
sharj^  thorns. 

Darkness  was  fast  approaching  when  he  first  realized  that 
he  was  lost.  He  waited  hopefully  for  the  appearance  of  the 
north  star — that  most  faithful  of  hunter's  guides — but  the 
sky  clouded  over  and  no  stars  appeared.  Tired  out  and  hope 
less  he  dragged  his  weary  body  into  a  dense  laurel  thicket 
and  lay  down  to  wait  for  dawn.  The  dismal  hoot  of  an  owl 
nearby,  the  stealthy  steps  of  some  soft-footed  animal  prowling 
round  the  thicket,  and  the  mournful  sough  of  the  wind  in  the 
tree-tops  kept  him  awake  for  hours,  but  at  last  he  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

HE  chilling  rains  of  November  an^ 
December's  flurry  of  snow  had  passed 
and  mid-winter  with  its  icy  blasts 
had  set  in.  The  Black  Forest  had 
changed  autumn's  gay  crimsoi!  6n 
yellow  to  the  sombre  hue  of  wink  - 
and  now  looked  indescribably 
dreary.  An  ice  gorge  had  formei? 
in  the  bend  of  the  river  at  the  head 
of  the  jsland  and  from  bank  to  bank 
logs,  driftwood,  broken  ice  and  giant  floes  were  packed  and 
jammed  so  tightly  as  to  resist  the  action  of  the  mighty  cur 
rent.  This  natural  bridge  would  remain  solid  twtil  spring 
had  loosened  the  frozen  grip  of  old  winter.  The  hills  sur 
rounding  Fort  Henry  were  white  w,ith  snow.  The  huge 
drifts  were  on  a  level  with  Col.  Zane's  fence  and  in  some  places 
the  top  rail  had  disappeared.  The  pine  trees  in  the  yard 
were  weighted  down  and  drooped  helplessly  with  their  white 
burden. 

On  this  frosty  January  morning  the  only  signs  of  life 
round  the  settlement  were  a  man  and  a  dog  walking  up 
Wheeling  hill.  The  man  carried  a  rifle,  an  axe,  and  several 
steel  traps.  His  snow-shoes  sank  into  the  drifts  as  he  la 
bored  up  the  steep  hill.  All  at  once  he  stopped.  The  big 
black  dog  had  put  his  nose  high  in  the  air  and  had  sniffed 
at  the  cold  wind. 

"Well,  Tige,  old  fellow,  what  is  it?"  said  Jonathan  Zane, 
for  this  was  he. 

The  dog  answered  with  a  low  whine.  Jonathan  looked  up 
and  down  the  creek  valley  and  along  the  hillside,  but  he  saw 
no  living  thing.  Snow,  snow  everywhere,  its  white  monotony 
relieved  here  and  there  by  a  black  tree  trunk.  Tige  sniffed 
again  and  then  growled.  Turning  his  ear  to  the  breeze  Jona 
than  heard  faint  yelps  from  far  over  the  hilltop.  He  dropped 
his  axe  and  the  traps  and  ran  the  remaining  short  distance 


Betty    Zane 

up  the  hill.  When  he  reached  the  summit  the  clear  baying 
of  hunting  wolves  was  borne  to  his  ears. 

The  hill  sloped  gradually  on  the  other  side,  ending  in  a 
white,  unbroken  plain  which  extended  to  the  edge  of  the 
laurel  thicket  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant.  Jonathan  could 
not  see  the  wolves,  but  he  heard  distinctly  their  peculiar, 
broken  howls.  They  were  in  pursu.it  of  something,  whether 
quadruped  or  man  he  could  not  decide.  Another  moment  and 
he  was  no  longer  in  doubt,  for  a  deer  dashed  cut  of  the 
thicket.  Jonathan  saw  that  it  was  a  buck  and  that  he  was 
well  nigh  exhausted;  his  head  swung  low  from  side  to  side; 
he  sank  slowly  to  his  knees,  and  showed  every  indication  of 
distress. 

The  next  instant  the  baying  of  the  wolves,  which  had 
ceased  for  a  moment,  sounded  close  at  hand.  The  buck  stag 
gered  to  his  feet;  he  turned  th.is  way  and  that.  When  he  saw 
the  man  and  the  dog  he  started  toward  them  without  a  mo 
ment's  hesitation. 

At  a  warning  word  from  Jonathan  the  dog  sank  on  the 
snow.  Jonathan  stepped  behind  a  tree,  which,  however,  was 
not  large  enough  to  screen  his  body.  He  thought  the  buck 
would  pass  close  by  him  and  he  determined  to  shoot  at  the 
most  favorable  moment. 

The  buck,  however,  showed  no  intention  of  passing  by ;  in 
his  abject  terror  he  saw  in  the  man  and  the  dog  foes  less 
terrible  than  those  which  were  yelping  on  his  trail.  He  came 
on  in  a  lame  uneven  trot,  making  straight  for  the  tree.  When 
he  reached  the  tree  he  crouched,  or  rather  fell,  on  the  ground 
within  a  yard  of  Jonathan  and  his  dog.  He  quivered  and 
twitched;  his  nostrils  flared;  at  every  pant  drops  of  blood 
flecked  the  snow ;  his  great  dark  eyes  had  a  strained  and  awful 
look,  almost  human  in  its  agony. 

Another  yelp  from  the  thicket  and  Jonathan  looked  up  in 
time  to  see  five  timber  wolves,  gaunt,  hungry  looking  beasts, 
burst  from  the  bushes.  With  their  noses  close  to  the  snow 
they  followed  the  trail.  When  they  came  to  the  spot  where 
the  deer  had  fallen  a  chorus  of  angry,  thirsty  howls  filled 
the  air. 


Betty    Zane  135 

"Well,  if  this  doesn't  beat  me !  I  thought  I  knew  a  little 
about  deer,"  said  Jonathan.  "Tige,  we  will  save  this  buck 
from  those  gray  devils  if  it  costs  a  leg.  Steady  now,  old 
fellow,  wait." 

When  the  wolves  were  within  fifty  yards  of  the  tree  and 
corm'ng  swiftly  Jonathan  threw  his  rifle  forward  and  yelled 
wjth  all  the  power  of  his  strong  lungs: 

"Hi!   Hi!    Hi!   Take 'em,  Tige!" 

In  trying  to  stop  quickly  on  the  slippery  snowcrust  the 
wolves  fell  all  over  themselves.  One  dropped  dead  and  an 
other  fell  wounded  at  the  report  of  Jonathan's  rifle.  The 
others  turned  tail  and  loped  swiftly  off  into  the  thicket.  Tige 
made  short  \vork  of  the  wounded  one. 

"Old  White  Tail,  if  you  were  the  last  buck  in  the  valley, 
I  would  not  harm  you,"  said  Jonathan,  looking  at  the  pant* 
ing  deer.  "You  need  have  no  farther  fear  of  that  pack  of 
cowards." 

So  saying  Jonathan  called  to  Tige  and  wended  his  waj 
down  the  hill  toward  the  settlement. 

An  hour  afterward  he  was  sitting  in  Col.  Zane's  comfort 
able  cabin,  where  all  was  warmth  and  cheerfulness.  Blaz* 
ing  hickory  logs  roared  and  crackled  in  the  stone  fire* 
place. 

"Hello,  Jack,  where  did  you  come  from?"  said  Col.  Zane, 
who  had  just  come  in.  "Haven't  seen  you  since  we  were 
snowed  up.  Come  over  to  see  about  the  horses  ?  If  I  were  you 
1  would  not  undertake  that  trip  to  Fort  Pitt  until  the  weather 
breaks.  You  could  go  in  the  sled,  of  course,  but  if  you  care 
anything  for  my  advice  you  will  stay  home.  This  weather 
will  hold  on  for  some  time.  Let  Lord  Dunmore  ^rait." 

"I  guess  we  are  in  for  some  stiff  weather." 

"Haven't  a  doubt  of  it.  I  told  Bessie  last  fall  we  might 
expect  a  hard  winter.  Everything  indicated  it.  Look  at 
the  thick  corn-husks.  The  hulls  of  the  nuts  from  the  shell- 
bark  here  in  the  yard  were  larger  and  tougher  than  I  evet 
saw  them.  Last  October  Tige  killed  a  raccoon  that  had  the 
wooliest  kind  of  a  fur.  I  could  have  given  you  a  dozen  signs 
of  a  hard  winter.  We  shall  still  have  a  month  or  six  weeks 


136  Betty    Zane 

of  it.  In  a  week  wjll  be  ground-hog  day  and  you  had  better 
wait  and  decide  after  that." 

"I  tell  you,  Eb,  I  get  tired  chopping  wood  and  hanging 
round  the  house." 

"Aha!  another  moody  spell,"  said  Col.  Zane,  glancing 
kindly  at  his  brother.  "Jack,  if  you  were  married  you 
would  outgrow  those  'blue-devils.'  I  used  to  have  them.  It 
runs  in  the  family  to  be  moody.  I  have  known  our  father 
to  take  his  gun  and  go  into  the  woods  and  stay  there  until 
he  had  fought  out  the  spell.  I  have  done  that  myself,  but 
since  I  married  Bessie  I  have  had  no  return  of  the  old  feel 
ing.  Get  married,  Jack,  and  then  you  will  settle  down  and 
work.  You  will  not  have  time  to  roam  around  alone  in  the 
woods." 

"I  prefer  the  spells,  as  you  call  them,  any  day/'  answered 
Jonathan,  with  a  short  laugh.  "A  man  with  my  disposition 
has  no  right  to  get  married.  This  weather  is  trying,  for  it 
keeps  me  indoors.  I  cannot  hunt  because  we  do  not  need  the 
meat.  And  even  if  I  did  want  to  hunt  I  should  not  have  to 
go  out  of  sight  of  the  fort.  There  were  three  deer  in  front 
cf  the  barn  this  morning.  They  were  nearly  starved.  They 
ran  off  a  little  at  sight  of  me,  but  in  a  few  moments  came 
back  for  the  hay  I  pitched  out  of  the  loft.  This  afternoon 
Tige  and  I  saved  a  big  buck  from  a  pack  of  wolves.  The 
buck  came  right  up  to  me.  I  could  have  touched  him.  This 
storm  is  sending  the  deer  down  from  the  hills." 

"You  are  right.  It  js  too  bad.  Severe  weather  like  this 
will  kill  more  deer  than  an  army  could.  Have  you  been 
doing  anything  with  your  traps?" 

"Yes,  I  have  thirty  traps  out." 

"If  you  are  going,  tell  Sam  to  fetch  down  another  load  of 
fodder  before  he  unhitches." 

"Eb,  I  have  no  patience  with  your  brothers,"  said  Col. 
Zane's  wife  to  him  after  he  had  closed  the  door.  "They  art 
all  alike;  forever  wanting  to  be  on  the  go.  If  it  isn't  Indians 
it  is  something  else.  The  very  idea  of  going  up  the  river 
in  this  weather.  If  Jonathan  doesn't  care  for  himself  he 
should  think  of  the  horses." 


BettyZane  137 

"My  dear,  I  was  just  as  wild  and  discontented  as  Jack  be 
fore  I  met  you,"  remarked  Col.  Zane.-^You  may  not  think 
so,  but  a  home  and  pretty  little  woman  will  do  wonders 
for  any  man~JLMy  brothers  have  nothing  to  keep  them 


steady." 

"Perhaps.  I  do  not  believe  that  Jonathan  ever  will  get 
married.  Silas  may;  he  certainly  has  been  keeping  company 
long  enough  with  Mary  Bennet.  You  are  the  only  Zane 
who  has  conquered  that  adventurous  spirit  and  the  desire  to 
be  always  roaming  the  woods  in  search  of  something  to  kill. 
Your  old  bo}^,  Noah,  is  growing  up  like  all  the  Zanes.  He 
fights  with  all  the  children  in  the  settlement.  I  cannot  break 
him  of  it.  He  is  not  a  bully,  for  I  have  never  known  him  to 
do  anything  mean  or  cruel.  It  is  just  sheer  love  of  fighting.** 

"Ha  !  Ha  !  I  fear  you  will  not  break  him  of  that,"  an 
swered  Col.  Zane.  "It  is  a  good  joke  to  say  he  gets  it  all 
from  the  Zanes.  How  about  the  McCollochs?  What  have 
you  to  say  of  your  father  and  the  Major  and  John  McCol- 
loch?  They  are  not  anything  if  not  the  fighting  kind.  It's 
the  best  trait  the  youngster  could  have,  out  here  on  the 
border.  He'll  need  it  all.  Don't  worry  about  him.  Where 
is  Betty?" 

"I  told  her  to  take  the  children  out  for  a  sled  ride.  Betty 
needs  exercise.  She  stays  indoors  too  much,  and  of  late  she 
looks  pale." 

"What!  Betty  not  looking  well!  She  was  never  ill  in 
her  life.  I  have  noticed  no  change  in  her." 

"No,  I  daresay  you  have  not.  You  men  can't  see  any 
thing.  But  I  can,  and  I  tell  you,  Betty  is  very  different  from 
the  girl  she  used  to  be.  Most  of  the  time  she  sits  and  gazes 
out  of  her  window.  She  used  to  be  so  bright,  and  when  she 
was  not  romping  with  the  children  she  busied  herself  with 
her  needle.  Yesterday  as  I  entered  her  room  she  hurriedly 
picked  up  a  book,  and,  I  think,  intentionally  hid  her  face 
behind  it.  I  saw  she  had  been  crying." 

"Come  to  think  of  it,  I  believe  I  have  missed  Betty,"  said 
Col.  Zane,  gravely.  "She  seems  more  quiet.  Is  she  unhappy? 
When  did  you  first  see  this  change?" 


138  Betty    Zanc 

"I  think  it  was  a  little  while  after  Mr.  Clarke  left  here  las* 


"Clarke!  What  has  he  to  do  with  Betty?  What  are  you 
driving  at?"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  stopping  in  front  of  h,is 
wife.  His  faced  had  paled  slightly.  "I  had  forgotten 
Clarke.  Bess,  you  can't  mean  -  " 

"Now,  Eb,  do  not  get  that  look  on  your  face.  You  always 
frighten  me,"  answered  his  wife,  as  she  quietly  placed  her 
hand  on  his  arm.  "I  do  not  mean  anything  much,  certainly 
nothing  against  Mr.  Clarke.  He  was  a  true  gentleman.  I 
really  liked  him." 

"So  did  I,"  interrupted  the  Colonel. 

"I  believe  Betty  cared  for  Mr.  Clarke.  She  was  always 
different  with  him.  He  has  gone  away  and  has  forgotten 
her.  That  is  strange  to  us,  because  we  cannot  imagine  any 
one  indifferent  to  our  beautiful  Betty.  Nevertheless,  no  mat 
ter  how  attractive  a  woman  may  be  men  sometimes  love  and 
ride  away.  I  hear  the  children  coming  now.  Do  not  let 
Betty  see  that  we  have  been  talking  about  her.  She  is  aa 
quick  as  a  steel  trap." 

A  peal  of  childish  laughter  came  from  without.  The  door 
opened  arid  Betty  ran  in,  followed  by  the  sturdy,  rosy- 
cheeked  youngsters.  All  three  were  white  with  snow. 

**We  have  had  great  fun,"  said  Betty.  "We  went  over 
the  bank  once  and  tumbled  off  the  sled  into  the  enow.  Then 
we  had  a  snow-balling  contest,  and  the  boys  compelled  me  to 
strike  my  colors  and  fly  for  the  house." 

Col.  Zane  looked  closely  at  his  sister.  Her  cheeks  were 
glowing  with  health;  her  eyes  were  sparkling  with  pleasure. 
Failing  to  observe  any  indication  of  the  change  in  Betty 
of  which  his  wife  had  spoken,  he  concluded  that  women  were 
better  qualified  to  judge  their  own  sex  than  were  men.  He 
had  to  confess  to  himself  that  the  only  change  he  could  see 
in  his  sister  was  that  she  grew  prettier  every  day  of  her  life. 

"Oh,  papa.  I  hit  Sam  right  in  the  head  with  a  big  snow 
ball,  and  I  made  Betty  run  into  the  house,  and  I  slid  down  thf 
hill  all  by  myself.  Sam  was  afraid,"  said  Noah  to  his  father. 

"Noah,  if  Sammy  saw  the  danger  in  sliding  dowp  the  hiF 


Betty    Zane  139 

he  was  braver  than  you.  Now  both  of  you  run  to  Annie  and 
have  these  wet  things  taken  off." 

"I  must  go  get  on  dry  clothes  myself,"  said  Betty.  "I 
am  nearly  frozen.  It  is  growing  colder.  I  saw  Jack  come 
in.  Is  he  going  to  Fort  Pitt?" 

"No.  He  has  decided  to  wait  until  good  weather.  I  met 
Mr.  Miller  over  at  the  garrison  this  afternoon  and  he  wants 
you  to  go  on  the  sled-ride  to-night.  There  is  to  be  a  dance 
down  at  Watkins'  place.  All  the  young  people  are  going. 
It  is  a  long  ride,  but  I  guess  it  will  be  perfectly  safe.  Silas 
and  Wetzel  are  going.  Dress  yourself  warmly  and  go  with 
them.  You  have  never  seen  old  Grandma  Watkins." 

"I  shall  be  pleased  to  go,"  said  Betty. 

Betty's  room  was  very  cozy,  considering  that  it  was  in  a 
pioneer's  cabin.  It  had  two  windows,  the  larger  of  which 
opened  on  the  side  toward  the  river.  The  walls  had  been 
smoothly  plastered  and  covered  with  white  birch-bark.  They 
were  adorned  with  a  few  pictures  and  Indian  ornaments.  A 
bright  homespun  carpet  covered  the  floor.  A  small  book 
case  stood  in  the  corner.  The  other  furniture  consisted  of 
two  chairs,  a  small  table,  a  bureau  with  a  mirror,  and  a  large 
wardrobe.  It  was  in  this  last  that  Betty  kept  the  gowns 
which  she  had  brought  from  Philadelphia,  and  which  were 
the  wonder  of  all  the  girls  in  the  village. 

"I  wonder  why  Eb  looked  so  closely  at  me,"  mused  Betty, 
as  she  slipped  on  her  little  moccasins.  "Usually  he  is  not 
anxious  to  have  me  go  so  far  from  the  fort;  and  now  he 
seemed  to  think  I  would  enjoy  this  dance  to-night.  I  wonder 
what  Bessie  has  been  telling  him." 

Betty  threw  some  wood  on  the  smouldering  fire  in  the  little 
stone  grate  and  sat  down  to  think.  Like  every  one  who  has 
a  humiliating  secret,  Betty  was  eternally  suspicious  and 
feared  the  very  walls  would  guess  it.  Swift  as  light  came  the 
thought  that  her  brother  and  his  wife  had  suspected  her 
secret  and  had  been  talking  about  her,  perhaps  pitying  her. 
With  this  thought  came  the  fear  that  if  she  had  betrayed 
herself  to  the  Colonel's  wife  she  might  have  done  so  to  others. 
The  consciousness  that  this  might  well  be  true  and  that  even 


140  Betty    Zane 

now  the  girls  might  be  talking  and  laughing  at  her  caused 
her  exceeding  shame  and  bitterness. 

Many  weeks  had  passed  since  that  last  night  that  Betty 
and  Alfred  Clarke  had  been  together. 

In  due  time  Col.  Zane's  men  returned  and  Betty  learned 
from  Jonathan  that  Alfred  had  left  them  at  Ft.  Pitt,  saying 
he  was  going  south  to  his  old  home.  At  first  she  had  expected 
some  word  from  Alfred,  a  letter,  or  if  not  that,  surely  an 
apology  for  his  conduct  on  that  last  evening  they  had  been 
together.  But  Jonathan  brought  her  no  word,  and  after 
hoping  against  hope  and  wearing  away  the  long  days  look 
ing  for  a  letter  that  never  came,  she  ceased  to  hope  and 
plunged  Jnto  despair. 

The  last  few  months  had  changed  her  life;  changed  it  as 
only  constant  thinking,  and  suffering  that  must  be  hidden 
from  the  world,  can  change  the  life  of  a  }roung  girl.  She  had 
been  so  intent  on  her  own  thoughts,  so  deep  in  her  dreams  that 
she  had  taken  no  heed  of  other  people.  She  did  not  know 
that  those  who  loved  her  were  always  thinking  of  her  welfare, 
and  would  naturally  see  even  a  slight  change  in  her.  With  a 
sudden  shock  of  surprise  and  pain  she  realized  that  to-day  f  01 
the  first  time  in  a  month  she  had  played  with  the  boys. 
Sammy  had  asked  her  why  she  did  not  laugh  any  more.  Now 
she  understood  the  mad  antics  of  Tige  that  morning;  Mad 
cap's  whinney  of  delight ;  the  chattering  of  the  squirrels,  and 
Csesar's  pranks  in  the  snow.  She  had  neglected  her  pets. 
She  had  neglected  her  work,  her  friends,  the  boys'  lessons, 
and  her  brother.  For  what?  What  would  her  girl  friends 
say?  That  she  was  pining  for  a  lover  who  had  forgotten 
her.  They  would  say  that  and  it  would  be  true.  She  did 
think  of  him  constantly. 

With  bitter  pain  she  recalled  the  first  days  of  the  acquain 
tance  which  now  seemed  so  long  past;  how  much  she  had  dis 
liked  Alfred ;  how  angry  she  had  been  with  him  and  how  con 
temptuously  she  had  spurned  his  first  proffer  of  friendship; 
how,  little  by  little,  her  pride  had  been  subdued;  then  the 
struggle  with  her  heart.  And,  at  last,  after  he  had  gone, 
came  the  realization  that  the  moments  spent  with  him  had  been 


Betty    Zane  141 

the  sweetest  of  her  life.  She  thought  of  him  as  she  used  to 
see  him  stand  before  her;  so  good  to  look  at;  so  strong  and 
masterful,  and  yet  so  gentle. 

"Oh,  I  cannot  bear  it,"  whispered  Betty  with  a  half  sob, 
giving  up  to  a  rush  of  tender  feeling.  "I  love  him.  I  love 
him,  and  I  cannot  forget  him.  Oh,  I  am  so  ashamed." 

Betty  bowed  her  head  on  her  knees.  Her  slight  form  quiv 
ered  a  while  and  then  grew  still.  When  a  half  hour  later 
she  raised  her  head  her  face  was  pale  and  cold.  It  bore  the 
look  of  a  girl  who  had  suddenly  become  a  woman;  a  woman 
who  saw  the  battle  of  life  before  her  and  who  was  ready  to 
fight.  Stern  resolve  gleamed  from  her  flashing  eyes;  there 
was  no  faltering  in  those  set  lips. 

Betty  was  a  Zane  and  the  Zanes  came  of  a  fighting  race. 
Their  blood  had  ever  been  hot  and  passionate;  the  blood  of 
men  quick  to  love  and  quick  to  hate.  It  had  flowed  in  the 
veins  of  daring,  reckless  men  who  had  fought  and  died  for 
their  country;  men  who  had  won  their  sweethearts  with  the 
sword ;  men  who  had  had  unconquerable  spirits.  It  was  this 
fighting  instinct  that  now  rose  in  Betty ;  it  gave  her  strength 
and  pride  to  defend  her  secret ;  the  resolve  to  fight  against  the 
longing  in  her  heart. 

"I  will  forget  him !  I  will  tear  him  out  of  my  heart !"  she 
exclaimed  passionately.  "He  never  deserved  my  love.  He 
did  not  care.  I  was  a  little  fool  to  let  him  amuse  himself 
with  me.  He  went  away  and  forgot.  I  hate  him." 

At  length  Betty  subdued  her  excitement,  and  when  she  went 
down  to  supper  a  few  minutes  later  she  tried  to  maintain  a 
cheerful  composure  of  manner  and  to  chat  with  her  old-time 
vivacity. 

"Bessie,  I  am  sure  you  have  exaggerated  things,"  remarked 
Col.  Zane  after  Betty  had  gone  upstairs  to  dress  for  the 
dance.  "Perhaps  it  is  only  that  Betty  grows  a  little  tired  of 
this  howling  wilderness.  Small  wonder  if  she  does.  You 
know  she  h?is  always  been  used  to  comfort  and  many  young 
people,  places  to  go  and  all  that.  This  is  her  first  winter  on 
wie  frontier.  She'll  come  round  all  right." 

"Have  it  your  way,  Ebenezer,"  answered  his  wife  with  a 


Betty    Zane 

look  of  amused  contempt  on  her  face.  "I  am  sure  I  hope  you 
are  right.  By  the  way  what  do  you  think  of  this  Ralfe 
Miller?  He  has  been  much  with  Betty  of  late." 

"I  do  not  know  the  fellow,  Bessie.  He  seems  agreeable. 
He  is  a  good-looking  young  man.  Why  do  you  ask?" 

"The  Major  told  me  that  Miller  had  a  bad  name  at  Pitt, 
and  that  he  had  been  a  friend  of  Simon  Girty  before  Girty 
became  a  renegade." 

"Humph!  I'll  have  to  speak  to  Sam.  As  for  knowing 
Girty,  there  is  nothing  terrible  in  that.  All  the  women  seem 
to  think  that  Simon  is  the  very  prince  of  devils.  I  have 
known  all  the  Girtys  for  years.  Simon  was  not  a  bad  fellow 
before  he  went  over  to  the  Indians.  It  is  his  brother  James 
who  has  committed  most  of  those  deeds  which  have  made  the,' 
name  of  Girty  so  infamous." 

"I  don't  like  Miller,"  continued  Mrs.  Zane  in  a  hesitating 
way.  "I  must  admit  that  I  have  no  sensible  reason  for  my 
dislike.  He  is  pleasant  and  agreeable,  yes,  but  behind  it 
there  is  a  certain  intensity.  That  man  has  something  on 
his  mind." 

"If  he  is  in  love  with  Betty,  as  you  seem  to  think,  he  has 
enough  on  his  mind.  I'll  vouch  for  that,"  said  Col.  Zane. 
"Betty  is  inclined  to  be  a  coquette.  If  she  liked  Clarke  pretty 
well,  it  may  be  a  lesson  to  her." 

"I  wjsh  she  were  married  and  settled  down.  It  may  have 
been  no  great  harm  for  Betty  to  have  had  many  admirers 
while  in  Philadelphia,  but  out  here  on  the  border  it  will  never 
do.  These  men  will  not  have  it.  There  will  be  trouble  come 
of  Betty's  coquettishness." 

"Why,  Bessie,  she  is  only  a  child.  What  would  you  have 
her  do?  Marry  the  first  man  who  asked  her?" 

"The  clod-hoppers  are  coming,"  said  Mrs.  Zane  as  the 
jingling  of  sle,igh  bells  broke  the  stillness. 

Col.  Zane  sprang  up  and  opened  the  door.  A  broad  stream 
of  light  flashed  from  the  room  and  lighted  up  the  road. 
Three  powerful  teams  stood  before  the  door.  They  were 
hitched  to  sleds,  or  clod-hoppers,  which  were  nothing  more 
than  wagon-beds  fastened  on  wooden  runners.  A  chorus  of 


Betty    Zane 

merry  shouts  greeted  Col.  Zane  as  he  appeared  in  the  door 
way. 

"All  right !  all  right !  Here  she  is,"  he  cried,  as  Betty  ran 
down  the  steps. 

The  Colonel  bundled  her  in  a  buffalo  robe  in  a  corner  of 
,he  foremost  sled.  At  her  feet  he  placed  a  buckskin  bag 
containing  a  hot  stone  Mrs.  Zane  thoughtfully  had  provided. 

"All  ready  here.  Let  them  go,"  called  the  Colonel.  "You 
will  have  clear  weather.  Coming  back  look  well  to  the  traces 
and  keep  a  watch  for  the  wolves." 

The  long  whips  cracked,  the  bells  jingled,  the  impatient 
horses  plunged  forward  and  away  they  went  over  the  glisten 
ing  snow.  The  night  was  clear  and  cold;  countless  stars 
blinked  in  the  black  vault  overhead ;  the  pale  moon  cast  its 
wintry  light  down  on  a  white  and  frozen  world.  As  the  run 
ners  glided  swiftly  and  smoothly  onward  showers  of  dry  snow 
like  fine  powder  flew  from  under  the  horses'  hoofs  and  soon 
whitened  the  black-robed  figures  in  the  sleds.  The  way  led 
down  the  hill  past  the  Fort,  over  the  creek  bridge  and  along 
the  road  that  skirted  the  Black  Forest.  The  ride  was  long; 
it  led  up  and  down  hills,  and  through  a  lengthy  stretch  of 
gloomy  forest.  Sometimes  the  drivers  walked  the  horses  up  a 
steep  climb  and  again  raced  them  along  a  level  bottom. 
Making  a  turn  in  the  road  they  saw  a  bright  light  in  the  dis 
tance  whjch  marked  their  destination.  In  five  minutes  the 
horses  dashed  into  a  wide  clearing.  An  immense  log  fire 
burned  in  front  of  a  two-story  structure.  Streams  of  light 
poured  from  the  small  windows;  the  squeaking  of  fiddles,  the 
shuffling  of  many  feet,  and  gay  laughter  came  through  the 
open  door. 

The  steaming  horses  were  unhitched,  covered  carefully  with 
robes  and  led  into  sheltered  places,  while  the  merry  party  dis 
appeared  into  the  house. 

The  occasion  was  the  celebration  of  the  b.irthday  of  old 
Dan  Watkins'  daughter.  Dan  was  one  of  the  oldest  settlers 
along  the  river ;  in  fact,  he  had  located  his  farm  several  years 
after  Col.  Zane  had  founded  the  settlement.  He  was  noted 
for  his  open-handed  dealing  and  kindness  of  heart.  He  had 


144  Betty    Zane 

V 

loaned  many  a  head  of  cattle  which  had  never  been  returned, 
and  many  a  sack  of  flour  had  left  his  mill  unpaid  for  in  grain. 
He  was  a  good  shot,  he  would  lay  a  tree  on  the  ground  as 
quickly  as  any  man  who  ever  swung  an  axe,  and  he  could  drink 
more  whiskey  than  any  man  in  the  valley. 

Dan  stood  at  the  door  with  a  smile  of  welcome  upon  his 
rugged  features  and  a  handshake  and  a  pleasant  word  for 
everyone.  His  daughter  Susan  greeted  the  men  with  a  little 
curtsy  and  kissed  the  girls  upon  the  cheek.  Susan  was  not 
pretty,  though  she  was  strong  and  healthy ;  her  laughing  blue 
eyes  assured  a  sunny  disposition,  and  she  numbered  her  suitors 
by  the  score. 

The  young  people  lost  nO  time.  Soon  the  floor  was  cov 
ered  with  their  whirl.ing  forms. 

In  one  corner  of  the  room  sat  a  little  dried-up  old  woman 
with  white  hair  and  bright  dark  eyes.  This  was  Grandma 
Watkins.  She  was  very  old,  so  old  that  no  one  knew  her  age< 
but  she  was  still  vigorous  enough  to  do  her  day's  work  witlf 
more  pleasure  than  many  a  younger  woman.  Just  now  she 
was  talking  to  Wetzel,  who  leaned  upon  his  inseparable  rifle 
and  listened  to  her  chatter.  The  hunter  liked  the  old  lady 
and  would  often  stop  at  her  cabin  while  on  his  way  to  the  set 
tlement  and  leave  at  her  door  a  fat  turkey  or  a  haunch  of 
venison. 

"Lew  Wetzel,  I  am  ashamed  of  you."  Grandmother  Wat- 
kins  was  saying.  "Put  that  gun  in  the  corner  and  get  out 
there  and  dance.  Enjoy  yourself.  You  are  only  a  boy  yet." 

"I'd  better  look  on,  mother,"  answered  the  "hunter. 

"Pshaw !  You  can  hop  and  skip  around  like  any  of  them 
and  laugh  too  if  you  want.  I  hope  that  pretty  sister  of  Eb 
Zane  has  caught  your  fancy." 

"She  is  not  for  the  like  of  me,"  he  said  gently.  "I  haven't 
the  gifts." 

"Don't  talk  about  gifts.  Not  to  an  old  woman  who  has 
lived  three  times  and  more  your  age,"  she  said  impatiently. 
"It  is  not  gifts  a  woman  wants  out  here  in  the  West.  If  she 
does  'twill  do  her  no  good.  She  needs  a  strong  arm  to  build 
cabins,  a  quick  eye  with  a  rifle,  and  a  fearless  heart.  What 


Betty    Zane  145 

border-women  want  are  houses  and  children.  They  musi 
bring  up  men,  men  to  drive  the  redskins  back,  men  to  till  the 
soil,  or  else  what  is  the  good  of  our  suffering  here." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Wetzel  thoughtfully.  "But  I'd  hate 
to  see  a  flower  like  Betty  Zane  in  a  rude  hunter's  cabin." 

"I  have  known  the  Zanes  for  forty  year5  and  I  never  saw 
one  yet  that  was  afraid  of  work.  And  you  might  win  her  if 
you  would  give  up  running  mad  after  Indians.  I'll  allow  no 
woman  would  put  up  with  that.  You  hare  killed  many  In 
dians.  You  ought  to  be  satisfied." 

"Fightin'  redskins  is  somethin'  I  can't  help,"  said  the 
hunter,  slowly  shaking  his  head.  "If  I  got  married  the  fever 
would  come  on  and  I'd  leave  home.  No,  I'm  no  good  for  a 
woman.  Fightin'  is  all  I'm  good  for." 

"Why  not  fight  for  her,  then?  Don't  let  one  of  these  boys 
walk  off  with  her.  Look  at  her.  She  likes  fun  and  admira 
tion.  I  believe  you  do  care  for  lier.  Why  not  t^ry  to  w,in 
her?" 

"Who  is  that  tall  man  with  her?"  continued  the  old  lady 
as  Wetzel  did  not  answer.  "There,  they  have  gone  into  the 
other  room.  Who  is  he?" 

"His  name  is  Miller." 

"Lewis,  I  don't  like  him.  I  have  been  watching  him  all 
evening.  I'm  a  contrary  old  woman,  I  know,  but  I  have  seen 
a  good  many  men  in  my  time,  and  his  face  is  not  honest.  He 
is  in  love  with  her.  Does  she  care  for  him?" 

"No,  Betty  doesn't  care  for  Miller.  She's  just  full  of  life 
and  fun." 

"You  may  be  mistaken.  All  the  Zanes  are  fire  and  brim 
stone  and  this  girl  is  a  Zane  clear  through.  Go  and  fetch  he* 
to  me,  Lewis.  I'll  tell  you  if  there's  a  chance  for  you." 

"Dear  mother,  perhaps  there's  a  wife  in  Heaven  for  me. 
There's  none  on  earth,"  said  the  hunter,  a  sad  smile  flitting 
over  his  calm  face. 

Ralfe  Miller,  whose  actions  had  occasioned  the  remarks  of 
the  old  lady,  would  have  been  conspicuous  in  any  assembly  of 
men.  There  was  something  in  his  dark  face  that  compelled 
interest  and  yet  left  the  observer  in  doubt.  His  square  chin, 


146  Betty    Zane 

deep-set  eyes  and  firm  mouth  denoted  a  strong  and  indom 
itable  will.  He  looked  a  man  whom  it  would  be  dangerous 
to  cross. 

Little  was  known  of  Miller's  history.  He  hailed  from  Ft. 
Pitt,  where  he  had  a  reputation  as  a  good  soldier,  but  a  man 
of  morose  and  quarrelsome  disposition.  It  was  whispered 
that  he  drank,  and  that  he  had  been  friendly  with  the  rene 
gades  McKee,  Elliott,  and  Girty.  He  had  passed  the  fall  and 
winter  at  Ft.  Henry,  serving  on  garrison  duty.  Since  he 
had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Betty  he  had  shown  her  all  the 
attention  possible. 

On  this  night  a  close  observer  would  have  seen  that  Miller 
was  laboring  under  some  strong  feeling.  A  half -subdued  fire 
gleamed  from  his  dark  eyes.  A  peculiar  nervous  twitching 
of  his  nostrils  betrayed  a  poorly  suppressed  excitement. 

All  evening  he  followed  Betty  like  a  shadow.  Her  kind 
ness  may  have  encouraged  him.  She  danced  often  with  him 
and  showed  a  certain  preference  for  his  society.  Al.ice  and 
Lydia  were  puzzled  by  Betty's  manner.  As  they  were  inti 
mate  friends  they  believed  they  knew  something  of  her  likes 
and  dislikes.  Had  not  Betty  told  them  she  did  not  care  for 
Mr.  Miller?  What  was  the  meaning  of  the  arch  glances  she 
bestowed  upon  him,  if  she  did  not  care  for  him?  To  be  sure, 
it  was  nothing  wonderful  for  Betty  to  smile, — she  was  always 
prodigal  of  her  smiles — but  she  had  never  been  known  to  en 
courage  any  man.  The  truth  was  that  Betty  had  put  her 
new  resolution  into  effect;  to  be  as  merry  and  charming  as 
any  fancy-free  maiden  could  possibly  be,  and  the  farthest  re 
moved  from  a  young  lady  pining  for  an  absent  and  indifferent 
sweetheart.  To  her  sorrow  Betty  played  her  part  too  well. 

Except  to  Wetzel,  whose  keen  eyes  little  escaped,  there  was 
jo  significance  in  Miller's  hilarity  one  moment  and  sudden 
thoughtfulness  the  next.  And  if  there  had  been,  it  would 
have  excited  no  comment.  Most  of  the  young  men  had 
sampled  some  of  old  Dan's  best  rye  and  their  flushed  faces 
and  unusual  spirits  did  not  result  altogether  from  the  exercise 
of  the  dance. 

After  one  of  the  reels  Miller  led  Betty,  with  whom  be  had 


Betty    Zane 

been  dancing,  into  one  of  the  side  rooms.  Round  the  dimly 
lighted  room  were  benches  upon  which  were  seated  some  of 
the  dancers.  Betty  was  uneasy  in  im'nd  and  now  wished  that 
she  had  remained  at  home.  They  had  exchanged  several 
commonplace  remarks  when  the  music  struck  up  and  Betty 
rose  quickly  to  her  feet. 

"See,  the  others  have  gone.     Let  us  return,"  she  said. 

"Wait,"  said  Miller  hurriedly.  "Do  not  go  just  yet.  1 
wish  to  speak  to  you.  I  have  asked  you  many  times  if  you 
will  marry  me.  Now  I  ask  you  again." 

"Mr.  Miller,  I  thanked  you  and  begged  you  not  to  cause 
us  both  pain  by  again  referring  to  that  subject,"  answered 
Betty  with  dignity.  "If  you  will  persist  in  bringing  it  up  we 
cannot  be  friends  any  longer." 

"Wait,  please  wait.  I  have  told  you  that  I  will  not  take 
'No'  for  an  answer.  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul 
and  I  cannot  give  you  up." 

His  voice  was  low  and  hoarse  and  thrilled  with  a  strong 
man's  passion.  Betty  looked  up  into  his  face  and  tears  of 
compassion  filled  her  eyes.  Her  heart  softened  to  this  man, 
and  her  conscience  gave  her  a  little  twinge  of  remorse. 
Could  she  not  have  averted  all  this?  No  doubt  she  had  been 
much  to  blame,  and  this  thought  made  her  voice  very  low  and 
sweet  as  she  answered  him. 

"I  like  you  as  a  friend,  Mr.  Miller,  but  we  can  never  be 
more  than  friends.  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  and  angry  with 
myself  that  I  did  not  try  to  help  you  instead  of  making  it 
worse.  Please  do  not  speak  of  this  again.  Come,  let  us  join 
the  others." 

They  were  quite  alone  in  the  room.  As  Betty  finished  speak 
ing  and  started  for  the  door  Miller  intercepted  her.  She  re 
coiled  in  alarm  from  his  white  face. 

"No,  you  don't  go  yet.  I  won't  give  you  up  so  easily.  No 
woman  can  play  fast  and  loose  with  me.  Do  you  understand  ? 
What  have  you  meant  all  this  winter?  You  encouraged  me. 
You  know  you  did,"  he  cried  passionately. 

"I  thought  you  were  a  gentleman.  I  have  really  taken  the 
trouble  to  defend  you  against  persons  who  evidently  were  not 


J48  Betty    Zane 

misled  as  to  your  real  nature.  I  will  not  listen  to  you,"  sajd 
Betty  coldly.  She  turned  away  from  him,  all  her  softened 
feeling  changed  to  scorn. 

"You  shall  listen  to  me,"  he  whispered  as  he  grasped  her 
wrist  and  pulled  her  backward.  All  the  man's  brutal  passion 
had  been  aroused.  The  fierce  border  blood  boiled  within  his 
heart.  ,  Unmasked  he  showed  himself  in  his  true  colors — a 
frontier  desperado.  His  eyes  gleamed  dark  and  lurid  beneath 
his  bent  brows  and  a  short,  desperate  laugh  passed  his  lips. 

"I  will  make  you  lore  me,  my  proud  beauty.  I  shall  have 
you  yet,  one  way  or  another." 

"Let  me  go.  How  dare  you  touch  me!"  cried  Betty,  the 
hot  blood  coloring  her  face.  She  struck  him  a  stinging  blow 
with  her  free  hand  and  struggled  with  all  her  might  to  free 
herself ;  but  she  was  powerless  in  his  iron  grasp.  Closer  he 
drew  her. 

"If  it  costs  me  my  life  I  will  kiss  you  for  that  blow,"  he 
muttered  hoarsely. 

"Oh,   you    coward!    you    ruffian!     Release   me   or   I    will 


scream." 


She  had  opened  her  lips  to  call  for  help  when  she  saw  a 
dark  figure  cross  the  threshold.  She  recognized  the  tall  form 
of  Wetzel.  The  hunter  stood  still  in  the  doorway  for  a  sec 
ond  and  then  with  the  swiftness  of  light  he  sprang  forward. 
The  single  straightening  of  his  arm  sent  Miller  backward 
over  a  bench  to  the  floor  with  a  crashing  sound.  Miller  rose 
with  some  difficulty  and  stood  with  one  hand  to  his  head. 

"Lew,  don't  draw  your  knife,"  cried  Betty  as  she  saw  Wet- 
zel's  hand  go  inside  his  hunting  shirt.  She  had  thrown  her* 
self  in  front  of  him  as  Miller  got  to  his  feet.  With  both 
little  hands  she  clung  to  the  brawny  arm  of  the  hunter,  but 
she  could  not  stay  it.  Wetzel's  hand  slipped  to  h.is  belt. 

"For  God's  sake,  Lew,  do  not  kill  him,"  implored  Betty, 
gazing  horror-stricken  at  the  glittering  eyes  of  the  hunter. 
"You  have  punished  him  enough.  He  only  tried  to  kiss  me. 
I  was  partly  to  blame.  Put  your  knife  away.  Do  not  shed 
blood.  For  my  sake,  Lew,  for  my  sake!" 

When  Betty  found  that  she  could  not  hold  WetzeJ's  arm 


Betty    Zane  149 

she  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  clung  to  him  w.ith  al? 
her  young  strength.  No  doubt  her  action  averted  a  tragedy. 
If  Miller  had  been  inclined  to  draw  a  weapon  then  he  might 
have  had  a  good  opportunity  to  use  it.  He  had  the  reputa 
tion  of  being  quick  with  his  knife,  and  many  of  his  past  fights 
testified  that  he  was  not  a  coward.  But  he  made  no  effort  to 
attack  Wetzel.  It  was  certain  that  he  measured  with  his  eye 
the  distance  to  the  door.  Wetzel  was  not  like  other  men. 
Irrespective  of  his  wonderful  strength  and  agility  there  was 
something  about  the  Indian  hunter  that  terrified  all  men. 
Miller  shrank  before  those  eyes.  He  knew  that  never  in  all 
his  life  of  adventure  had  he  been  as  near  death  as  at  that 
moment.  There  was  nothing  between  him  and  eternity 
but  the  delicate  arms  of  this  frail  girl.  At  a  slight  wave 
of  the  hunter's  hand  towards  the  door  he  turned  and  passed 
out. 

"Oh,  how  dreadful !"  cried  Betty,  dropping  upon  a  bench 
with  a  sob  of  relief.  "I  am  glad  you  came  when  you  did  even 
though  you  frightened  me  more  than  he  did.  Promise  me 
that  you  will  not  do  Miller  any  further  harm.  If  you  had 
fought  it  would  all  have  been  on  my  account ;  one  or  both  of 
you  might  have  been  killed.  Don't  look  at  me  so.  I  do  not 
care  for  him.  I  never  did.  Now  that  I  know  him  I  despise 
him.  He  lost  his  senses  and  tried  to  kiss  me.  I  could  have 
killed  him  myself." 

Wetzel  did  not  answer.  Betty  had  been  holding  his  hand 
in  both  her  own  while  she  spoke  impulsively. 

"I  understand  how  difficult  it  is  for  you  to  overlook  an  in 
sult  to  me,"  she  continued  earnestly.  "But  I  ask  it  of  you, 
You  are  my  best  friend,  almost  my  brother,  and  I  promise  you 
that  if  he  ever  speaks  a  word  to  me  again  that  is  not  what  it 
should  be  I  will  tell  you." 

"1  reckon  I'll  let  him  go,  considerin'  how  set  on  it  you  are." 

"But  remember,  Lew,  that  he  is  revengeful  and  you  must  be 
on  the  lookout,"  said  Betty  gravely  as  she  recalled  the  ma 
lignant  gleam  jn  Miller's  eyes. 

"He's  dangerous  only  like  a  moccasin  snake  that  hides  in 
the  grass." 


150  Betty    Zane 

"Am  I  all  right?  Do  I  look  mussed  or — or  excited— or 
Anything?"  asked  Betty. 

Lewis  smiled  as  she  turned  round  for  his  benefit.  Her  hair 
was  a  little  awry  and  the  lace  at  her  neck  disarranged.  The 
natural  bloom  had  not  quite  returned  to  her  cheeks.  With  a 
look  in  his  eyes  that  would  have  mystified  Betty  for  many  a 
day  had  she  but  seen  it  he  ran  his  gaze  over  the  dainty  figurec 
Then  reassuring  her  that  she  looked  as  well  as  ever,  he  led  her 
into  the  dance-room. 

"So  this  is  Betty  Zane.  Dear  child,  kiss  me,"  said  Grand 
mother  Watkins  when  Wetzel  had  brought  Betty  up  to  her. 
"Now,  let  me  get  a  good  look  at  you.  Well,  well,  you  are  a 
true  Zane.  Black  hair  and  eyes;  all  fire  and  pride.  Child, 
I  knew  your  father  and  mother  long  before  you  were  born. 
Your  father  was  a  fine  man  but  a  proud  one.  And  how  do 
you  like  the  frontier?  Are  you  enjoying  yourself?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  said  Betty,  smiling  brightly  at  the  old 
Jady. 

"Well,  dearie,  have  a  good  time  while  you  can.  Life  is 
hard  in  a  pioneer's  cabin.  You  will  not  always  have  the  Col- 
onel  to  look  after  you.  They  tell  me  you  have  been  to  some 
grand  school  in  Philadelphia.  Learning  is  very  well,  but  it 
will  not  help  you  in  the  cabin  of  one  of  these  rough  men." 

"There  is  a  great  need  of  education  in  all  the  pioneers' 
homes.  I  have  persuaded  brother  Eb  to  have  a  schoolteacher 
at  the  Fort  next  spring." 

"First  teach  the  boys  to  plow  and  the  girls  to  make  Johnny- 
cake.  How  much  you  favor  your  brother  Isaac.  He  used  U 
come  and  see  me  often.  So  must  you  in  summertime.  Poo; 
lad,  I  suppose  he  is  dead  by  this  time.  I  have  seen  so  many 
brave  and  good  lads  go.  There  now,  I  did  not  mean  to  make 
you  sad,"  and  the  old  lady  patted  Betty's  hand  and  s.ighed. 

"He  often  spoke  of  you  and  said  that  I  must  come  with 
him  to  see  you.  Now  he  is  gone,"  said  Betty. 

"Yes,  he  is  gone,  Betty,  but  you  must  not  be  sad  whiL?  you 
are  so  young.  Wait  until  you  are  old  like  I  am.  How  long 
have  you  known  Lew  Wetzel?" 

"All  my  life.     He  used  to  carry  me  in  his  arm*  when  I 


Betty    Zane  151 

was  a  baby.  Of  course  I  do  not  remember  that,  but  as  far 
back  as  I  can  go  in  memory  I  can  see  Lew.  Oh,  the  manj 
times  he  has  saved  me  from  disaster!  But  why  do  you  ask?" 

"I  think  Lew  Wetzel  cares  more  for  you  than  for  all  the 
world.  He  is  as  silent  as  an  Indian,  but  I  am  an  old  woman 
and  I  can  read  men's  hearts.  If  he  could  be  made  to  give 
up  his  wandering  life  he  would  be  the  best  man  on  the 
border." 

"Oh,  indeed  I  think  you  are  wrong.  Lew  does  not  care 
for  me  in  that  way,"  said  Betty,  surprised  ar/d  troubled  by  the 
old  lady's  vehemence. 

A  loud  blast  from  a  hunting-horn  directed  the  attention  of 
all  to  the  platform  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall,  where  Dan 
Watkins  stood.  The  fiddlers  ceased  playing,  the  dancers 
stopped,  and  all  looked  expectantly.  The  scene  was  simple, 
strong,  and  earnest.  The  light  in'  the  eyes  of  these  maidens 
shone  like  the  light  from  the  pine  cones  on  the  walls.  It 
beamed  soft  and  warm.  These  fearless  sons  of  the  wilder 
ness,  these  sturdy  sons  of  progress,  standing  there  clasping 
the  hands  of  their  partners  and  with  faces  glowing  with  hap 
piness,  forgetful  of  all  save  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment, 
were  ready  to  go  out  on  the  morrow  and  battle  unto  the  death 
for  the  homes  and  the  lives  of  their  loved  ones. 

"Friends,"  said  Dan  when  the  hum  of  voices  had  ceased, 
"I  never  thought  as  how  I'd  have  to  get  up  here  and  make  a 
speech  to-night  or  I  might  have  taken  to  the  woods.  How- 
somever,  mother  and  Susan  says  as  it's  gettin'  late  it's  about 
time  we  had  some  supper  Somewhere  in  the  big  cake  is  hid 
a  gold  ring.  If  one  of  the  girls  gets  it  she  can  keep  it  as  a 
gift  from  Susan,  and  should  one  of  the  boys  find  it  he  may 
make  a  present  to  his  best  girl.  And  in  the  bargain  he  gets 
to  kiss  Susan.  She  made  some  objection  about  this  and  said 
that  part  of  the  game  didn't  go,  but  I  reckon  the  lucky  young 
man  will  decide  that  for  hisself.  And  now  to  the  festal 
board," 

Ample  justice  was  done  to  the  turkey,  the  venison,  and  the 
bear  meat.  Grandmother  Watkins'  delicious  apple  and 
jpumpkin  pies,  for  which  she  was  renowned,  disappeared  as  by 


B  e  1 1  y    Z  a  n  e 

magic.  Likewise  the  cakes  and  the  sweet  cider  and  the  apple 
butter  vanished. 

When  the  b,ig  cake  had  been  cut  and  divided  among  the 
guests,  Wetzel  discovered  the  gold  ring  within  his  share.  He 
presented  the  ring  to  Betty,  and  gave  his  privilege  of  kissing 
Susan  to  George  Reynolds,  with  the  remark :  "George,  I  cal- 
kilate  Susan  would  like  it  better  if  you  do  the  kissin'  part." 
Now  it  was  known  to  all  that  George  had  long  been  an  ardent 
admirer  of  Susan's,  and  it  was  suspected  that  she  was  not  in 
different  to  him.  Nevertheless,  she  protested  that  it  was  not  fair. 
George  acted  like  a  man  who  had  the  opportunity  of  his  life. 
Amid  uproarious  laughter  he  ran  Susan  all  over  the  room,  and 
when  he  caught  her  he  pulled  her  hands  away  from  her  blush 
ing  face  and  bestowed  a  right  hearty  kiss  on  her  cheek.  To 
everyone's  surprise  and  to  Wetzel's  discomfiture,  Susan  walked 
up  to  h,im  and  saying  that  as  he  had  taken  such  an  easy  way 
tut  of  it  she  intended  to  punish  him  by  kissing  him.  And  so 
ihe  did.  Poor  Lewis'  face  looked  the  picture  of  dismay. 
Probably  he  had  never  been  kissed  before  in  his  life. 

Happy  hours  speed  away  on  the  wings  of  the  wind.  The 
feasting  over,  the  good-byes  were  spoken,  the  girls  were 
trapped  in  the  warm  robes,  for  it  was  now  intensely  cold,  and 
Boon  the  horses,  eager  to  start  on  the  long  homeward  journey, 
were  pulling  hard  on  their  bits.  On  the  party's  return  trip 
there  was  an  absence  of  the  hilarity  which  had  prevailed  on 
their  coming.  The  bells  were  taken  off  before  the  sleds  left 
the  blockhouse,  and  the  traces  and  the  harness  examined  and 
tightened  with  the  caution  of  men  who  were  apprehensive  of 
danger  and  who  would  take  no  chances. 

In  winter  time  the  foes  most  feared  by  the  settlers  were  the 
timber  wolves.  Thousands  of  these  savage  beasts  infested 
the  wild  forest  regions  which  bounded  the  lonely  roads,  and 
their  wonderful  power  of  scent  and  swift  and  tireless  pursuit 
made  a  long  night  ride  a  thing  to  be  dreaded.  While  the 
horses  moved  sw,iftly  danger  from  wolves  was  not  imminent; 
but  carelessness  or  some  mishap  to  a  trace  or  a  wheel  had  been 
the  cause  of  more  than  one  tragedy. 

Therefore  it  was  not  remarkable  that  the  drivers  of  our 


Letty    Zane  153 

party  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  the  top  of  the  last  steep 
lii  11  had  been  reached.  The  girls  were  quiet,  and  tired  out 
and  cold  they  pressed  close  to  one  another;  the  men  were  si 
lent  and  watchful. 

When  they  were  half  way  home  and  had  just  reached  the 
outskirts  of  the  Black  Forest  the  keen  ear  of  Wetzel  caught 
the  cry  of  a  wolf.  It  came  from  the  south  and  sounded  so 
;  faint  that  Wetzel  believed  at  first  that  he  had  been  mistaken. 
A  few  moments  passed  in  which  the  hunter  turned  his  ear  to 
the  south.  He  had  about  made  up  his  mind  that  he  had  only 
imagined  he  had  heard  something  when  the  unmistakable  yelp 
of  a  wolf  came  down  on  the  wind.  Then  another,  this  time 
clear  and  distinct,  caused  the  driver  to  turn  and  whisper  to 
Wetzel.  The  hunter  spoke  in  a  low  tone  and  the  driver 
whipped  up  his  horses.  From  out  the  depths  of  the  dark 
woods  along  which  they  were  riding  came  a  long  and  mourn 
ful  howl.  It  was  a  wolf  answering  the  call  of  his  mate.  This 
time  the  horses  heard  it,  for  they  threw  back  their  ears  and  in 
creased  their  speed.  The  girls  heard  it,  for  they  shrank 
closer  to  the  men. 

There  is  that  which  is  frightful  in  the  cry  of  a  wolf.  When 
one  is  safe  in  camp  before  a  roaring  fire  the  short,  sharp  bark 
of  a  wolf  is  startling,  and  the  long  howl  will  make  one  shud 
der.  It  is  so  lonely  and  dismal.  It  makes  no  difference 
whether  it  be  given  while  the  wolf  is  sitting  on  his  haunches 
near  some  cabin  waiting  for  the  remains  of  the  settler's  din 
ner,  or  while  he  is  in  full  chase  after  his  prey — the  cry  js 
equally  wild,  savage  and  bloodcurdling. 

'  Betty  had  never  heard  it  and  though  she  was  brave,  when 
the  howl  from  the  forest  had  its  answer  in  another  howl  from 
the  creek  thicket,  she  slipped  her  little  mittened  hand  under 
Wetzel's  arm  and  looked  up  at  him  with  frightened  eyes. 

In  half  an  hour  the  full  chorus  of  yelps,  barks  and  howls 
swelled  hideously  on  the  air,  and  the  ever  .increasing  pack  of 
wolves  could  be  seen  scarcely  a  hundred  yards  behind  the 
sleds.  The  patter  of  their  swiftly  flying  feet  on  the  snow 
could  be  distinctly  heard.  The  slender,  dark  forms  came 
nearer  and  nearer  every  moment.  Presently  the  wolves  had 


Betty    Zana 

approached  close  enough  for  the  occupants  of  the  sleds  to 
see  their  shining  eyes  looking  like  little  balls  of  green  fire. 
A  gaunt  beast  bolder  than  the  others,  and  evidently  the  leader 
of  the  pack,  bounded  forward  until  he  was  only  a  few  yards 
from  the  last  sled.  At  every  jump  he  opened  his  great  jaws 
and  uttered  a  quick  bark  as  jf  to  embolden  his  followers. 

Almost  simultaneously  with  the  red  flame  that  burst  from 
Wetzel's  rifle  came  a  sharp  yelp  of  agony  from  the  leader. 
He  rolled  over  and  over.  Instantly  followed  a  horrible  ming 
ling  of  snarls  and  barks,  and  snapping  of  jaws  as  the  band 
fought  over  the  body  of  their  luckless  comrade. 

This  short  delay  gave  the  advantage  to  the  horses.  When 
the  wolves  again  appeared  they  were  a  long  way  behind.  The 
distance  to  the  fort  was  now  short  and  the  horses  were  urged 
to  their  utmost.  The  wolves  kept  up  the  chase  until  they 
reached  the  creek  bridge  and  the  mill.  Then  they  slowed  up, 
the  howling  became  desultory,  and  finally  the  dark  forms  dis 
appeared  in  the  thickets. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


INTER  dragged  by  uneventfully 
for  Betty.  Unlike  the  other  pio 
neer  girls,  who  were  kept  busy  all 
the  time  with  their  mending,  and 
linsey  weaving,  and  household  du 
ties,  Betty  had  nothing  to  divert 
her  but  her  embroidery  and  her 
reading.  These  she  found  very 
tiresome.  Her  maid  was  devoted 
to  her  and  never  left  a  thing  un 
done.  Annie  was  old  Sam's  daughter,  and  she  had  waited  on 
Betty  since  she  had  been  a  baby.  The  cleaning  or  mending 
or  darning — anything  in  the  shape  of  work  that  would  have 
helped  pass  away  the  monotonous  hours  for  Betty,  was  always 
done  before  she  could  lift  her  hand. 

During  the  day  she  passed  hours  in  her  little  room  and 
most  of  them  were  dreamed  away  by  her  window.  Lydia 
and  Alice  came  over  sometimes  and  wlu'led  away  the  tedious 
moments  with  their  bright  chatter  and  merry  laughter,  their 
castle-building,  and  their  romancing  on  heroes  and  love  and 
marriage  as  girls  always  will  until  the  end  of  time.  They 
had  not  forgotten  Mr.  Clarke,  but  as  Betty  had  rebuked  them 
with  a  dignity  which  forbade  any  further  teasing  on  that 
score,  they  had  transferred  their  fun-making  to  the  use  of  Mr, 
Miller's  name. 

Fearing  her  brothers'  wrath  Betty  had  not  told  them  of 
the  scene  with  Miller  at  the  dance.  She  had  learned  enough 
of  rough  border  justice  to  dread  the  consequence  of  such  a 
disclosure.  She  permitted  Miller  to  come  to  the  house,  al 
though  she  never  saw  him  alone.  Miller  had  accepted  this 
favor  gratefully.  He  said  that  on  the  night  of  the  dance 
he  had  been  a  little  the  worse  for  Dan  Watkins'  strong  liquor, 
and  that,  together  with  his  bitter  disappointment,  made  him 

act  in  the  mad  way  which  had  so  grievously  offended  her. 

HI 


156  •-  e  1 1  y    Z  a  n  e 

He  exerted  himself  to  win  her  forgiveness.  Betty  was  always 
tender-hearted,  and  though  she  did  not  trust  him,  she  said 
they  might  still  be  friends,  but  that  that  depended  on 
his  respect  for  her  forbearance.  Miller  had  promised  he 
would  never  refer  to  the  old  subject  and  he  had  kept  his 
word. 

Indeed  Betty  welcomed  any  diversion  for  the  long  winter 
evenings.  Occasionally  some  of  the  young  people  visited 
her,  and  they  sang  and  danced,  roasted  apples,  popped  chest 
nuts,  and  played  games.  Often  Wetzel  and  Major  McGolloch 
came  in  after  supper.  Betty  would  come  down  and  sing  for 
them,  and  afterward  would  coax  Indian  lore  and  woodcraft 
from  Wetzel,  or  she  would  play  checkers  with  the  Major. 
If  she  succeeded  in  winning  from  him,  which  in  truth  was  not 
often,  she  teased  him  unmercifully.  When  Col.  Zane  and 
the  Major  had  settled  down  to  their  series  of  games,  from 
which  nothing  short  of  Indians  could  have  diverted  them, 
Betty  sat  by  Wetzel.  The  silent  man  of  the  woods,  an  ap 
pellation  the  hunter  had  earned  by  his  reticence,  talked  for 
Betty  as  he  would  for  no  one  else. 

One  night  while  Col.  Zane.  his  wife  and  Betty  were  enter 
taining  Capfc.  Boggs  and  Major  McColloch  and  several  of 
Betty's  girls  friends,  after  the  usual  music  and  singing,  story 
telling  became  the  order  of  the  evening.  Little  Noah  told  of 
the  time  he  had  climbed  the  apple-tree  in  the  yard  after  a 
raccoon  and  got  severely  bitten. 

"One  day,"  said  Noah,  "I  heard  Tige  barking  out  in  the 
orchard  and  I  ran  out  there  and  saw  a  funny  little  fur  ball 
up  in  the  tree  with  a  black  tail  and  white  rings  around  it.  It 
looked  like  a  pretty  cat  with  a  sharp  nose.  Every  time  Tige 
barked  the  little  animal  showed  his  teeth  and  swelled  up  his 
back.  I  wanted  him  for  a  pet.  I  got  Sam  to  give  me  a  sack 
and  I  climbed  the  tree  and  the  nearer  I  got  to  him  the  farther 
he  backed  down  the  limb.  I  followed  him  and  put  out  the 
sack  to  put  it  over  his  head  and  he  bit  me.  I  fell  from  the 
limb,  but  he  fell  too  and  T,ige  killed  him  and  Sam  stuffed 
him  for  me." 

"Noah,  you  are  quite  a  valiant  hunter,"  said  Betty.  "Now, 


Betty    Zane  157 

Jonathan,  remember  that  you  promised  to  tell  me  of  your 
meeting  with  Daniel  Boone." 

"It  was  over  on  the  Muskingong  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Sandusky.  I  was  hunting  in  the  open  woods  along  the  bank 
when  I  saw  an  Indian.  He  saw  me  at  the  same  time  and  we 
both  treed.  There  we  stood  a  long  time  each  afraid  to  chancre 
position.  Finally  I  began  to  get  tired  and  resorted  to  an 
old  ruse.  I  put  my  coon-skin  cap  on  my  ramrod  and  cau 
tiously-poked  it  from  behind  the  tree,  expecting  every  second 
to  hear  the  whistle  of  the  redskin's  bullet.  Instead  I  heard 
a  jolly  voice  yell :  "Hey,  young  feller,  you'll  have  to  try  some 
thing  better'n  that.'  I  looked  and  saw  a  white  man  standing 
out  in  the  open  and  shaking  all  over  with  laughter.  I  went 
up  to  him  and  found  him  to  be  a  b,ig  strong  fellow  with  an 
honest,  merry  face.  He  said:  'I'm  Boone.'  I  was  consider 
ably  taken  aback,  especially  when  I  saw  he  knew  I  was  a 
white  man  all  the  time.  We  camped  and  hunted  along  the 
river  a  week  and  at  the  Falls  of  the  Muskingong  he  struck 
out  for  his  Kentucky  home." 

"Here  is  Wetzel,"  said  Col.  Zane,  who  had  risen  and  gone 
to  the  door.  "Now,  Betty,  try  and  get  Lew  to  tell  us  some 
thing." 

"Come,  Lewis,  herr  is  a  seat  by  me,"  said  Betty.  "We 
have  been  pleasantly  passing  the  tjme.  We  have  had  bear 
stories,  snake  stories,  ghost  stories — all  kinds  of  tales.  Will 
you  tell  us  one?" 

"Lewis,  did  you  ever  have  a  chance  to  kill  a  hostile  Indian 
and  not  take  it?"  asked  Col.  Zane. 

"Never  but  once,"  answered  Lewis. 

"Tell  us  about  it.     I  imagine  it  will  be  .interesting." 

"Well,  I  ain't  good  at  tellin'  things,"  began  Lewis.  "I 
reckon  I've  seen  some  strange  sights.  I  kin  tell  you  about  the 
only  redskin  I  ever  let  off.  Three  years  ago  I  was  takin* 
a  fall  hunt  over  on  the  Big  Sandy,  and  I  run  into  a  party  of 
Shawnees.  I  plugged  a  chief  and  started  to  run.  There 
was  some  good  runners  and  I  couldn't  shake  'em  in  the  open 
country.  Comin'  to  the  Ohio  I  jumped  in  and  swum  across, 
keepin'  my  rifle  and  powder  dry  by  holdin'  'em  up.  I  hicJ 


168  Betty    Zane 

in  some  bulrushes  and  waited.  Pretty  soon  along  comes  three 
Injuns,  and  when  they  saw  where  I  had  taken  to  the  water 
they  stopped  and  held  a  short  pow-wow.  Then  they  all  took  to 
the  water.  This  was  what  I  was  waitin'  for.  When  they 
got  nearly  acrosst  I  shot  the  first  redskin,  and  loadin'  quick 
J  got  a  bullet  into  the  others.  The  last  Injun  did  not  sink. 
I  watched  him  go  floatin'  down  stream  expectin'  every  minute 
to  see  him  go  under  as  he  was  hurt  so  bad  he  could  hardly 
keep  his  head  above  water.  He  floated  down  a  long  ways  and 
the  current  carried  him  to  a  pile  of  driftwood  which  had 
lodged  against  a  little  island.  I  saw  the  Injun  crawl  up  on 
the  drift.  I  went  down  stream  and  by  keepin'  the  island  be 
tween  me  and  him  I  got  out  to  where  he  was.  I  pulled  my 
tomahawk  and  went  around  the  head  of  the  island  and  found 
the  redskin  leanin'  against  a  big  log.  He  was  a  young  brave 
and  a  fine  lookin'  strong  feller.  He  was  try  in'  to  stop  the 
blood  from  my  bullet-hole  in  his  side.  When  he  saw  me  he 
tried  to  get  up,  but  he  was  too  weak.  He  smiled,  pointed 
to  the  wound  and  said :  'Deathwind  not  heap  times  bad  shot.* 
Then  he  bowed  his  head  and  waited  for  the  tomahawk.  Well, 
I  picked  him  up  and  carried  him  ashore  and  made  a  shack 
by  a  spring.  I  staid  there  with  him.  When  he  got  well 
enough  to  stand  a  few  days'  travel  I  got  him  across  the  river 
and  givin'  him  a  hunk  of  deer  meat  I  told  him  to  go,  and 
if  I  ever  saw  him  again  I'd  make  a  better  shot. 

"A  year  afterwards  I  trailed  two  Shawnees  into  Winge- 
mind's  camp  and  got  surrounded  and  captured.  The  Dela 
ware  chief  is  my  great  enemy.  They  beat  me,  shot  salt  into 
my  legs,  made  me  run  the  gauntlet,  tied  me  on  the  back  of  a 
wild  mustang.  Then  they  got  ready  to  burn  me  at  the  stake. 
That  night  they  painted  my  face  black  and  held  the  usual 
death  dances.  Some  of  the  braves  got  drunk  and  worked 
themselves  into  a  frenzy.  I  allowed  I'd  never  see  daylight. 
I  seen  that  one  of  the  braves  left  to  guard  me  was  the  young 
feller  I  had  wounded  the  year  before.  He  never  took  no  no 
tice  of  me.  In  the  gray  of  the  early  mornin'  when  all  were 
asleep  and  the  other  watch  dozin5  I  felt  cold  steel  between  my 
imsts  and  my  buckskin  thongs  dropped  off.  Then  my  feet 


Betty    Zane  159 

were  cut  loose.  I  looked  round  and  in  the  dim  light  I  seen  my 
young  brave.  He  handed  me  my  own  rifle,  knife  and  toma 
hawk,  put  his  finger  on  his  lips  and  with  a  bright  smile,  as  if 
to  say  he  was  square  with  me,  he  pointed  to  the  east.  I  was 
out  of  sight  in  a  niinute." 

"How  noble  of  him!"  exclaimed  Betty,  her  eyes  all  aglow. 
"He  paid  his  debt  to  you,  perhaps  at  the  price  of  his  life." 

"I  have  never  known  an  Indian  to  forget  a  promise,  or  a 
kind  action,  or  an  injury,"  observed  Col.  Zane. 

"Are  the  Indians  half  as  bad  as  they  are  called?"  asked 
Betty.  "I  have  heard  as  many  stories  of  their  nobility  as  of 
their  cruelty." 

"The  Indians  consider  that  they  have  been  robbed  and 
driven  from  their  homes.  What  we  think  hideously  inhuman 
is  war  to  them,"  answered  Col.  Zane. 

"Wheii  I  came  here  from  Fort  Pitt  I  expected  to  see  and 
fight  Indians  every  day,"  said  Capt.  Boggs.  "I  have  been 
here  at  Wheeling  for  nearly  two  years  r  •  d  have  never  seen 
a  hostile  Indian.  There  have  been  some  Indians  in  the  vicin 
ity  during  that  time,  but  not  one  has  shown  himself  to  me. 
I'm  not  up  to  Indian  tricks,  1  know,  but  1  think  the  last  siege 
must  have  been  onough  for  them.  I  don't  believe  we  shall  have 
any  more  ^rouble  from  them." 

"Captain/5  called  out  Col.  Zane,  banging  his  hand  on  the 
table.  "I'll  bet  you  my  best  horse  to  a  keg  of  gunpowder 
that  you  see  enough  Indians  before  you  are  a  year  older  to 
make  you  wish  you  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  the  western 
border." 

"And  I'll  go  you  the  same  bet,"  said  Major  McColloch. 

"You  see,  Captain,  you  must  understand  a  little  of  the  na 
ture  of  the  Indian,"  continued  Col.  Zane.  "We  have  had 
proof  that  the  Dela wares  and  the  Shawnees  have  been  pre 
paring  for  an  expedition  for  months.  We  shall  have  another 
siege  some  day  and  to  my  thinking  it  will  be  a  longer  and 
harder  one  than  the  last.  What  say  you,  Wetzel?" 

"I  ain't  sayin'  much,  but  I  don't  calkilate  on  goin'  on  any 
long  hunts  this  summer/'  answered  the  hunter. 

"And  do  you  think  Tarhe,  Wingenund,  Pipe,  Cornplanter, 


160  Betty    Zane 

and  all  those  chiefs  will  unite  their  forces  and  attack  us?" 
asked  Betty  of  Wetzel. 

"Cornplanter  won't.  He  has  been  paid  for  most  of  his 
land  and  he  ain't  so  bitter.  Tarhe  is  not  likely  to  bother  us. 
But  Pipe  and  Wingenund  and  Red  Fox — they  all  want 
blood." 

"Have  you  seen  these  chiefs?"  said  Betty. 

"Yes,  I  know  'em  all  and  they  all  know  me,"  answered  the 
Tranter.  "I've  watched  over  many  a  trail  waitin'  for  one  of 
'em.  If  I  can  ever  get  a  shot  at  any  of  'em  I'll  give  up  In 
juns  and  go  farim'n'.  Good  night,  Betty." 

"What  a  strange  man  is  Wetzel,"  mused  Betty,  after  the 
visitors  had  gone.  "Do  you  know,  Eb,  he  is  not  at  all  like  any 
one  else.  I  have  seen  the  girls  shudder  at  the  mention  of  his 
name  and  I  have  heard  them  say  they  could  not  look  in  his 
eyes.  He  does  not  affect  me  that  way.  It  is  not  often  I 
can  get  him  to  talk,  but  sometimes  he  tells  me  beautiful  thirigi 
about  the  woods ;  how  he  lives  in  the  w.ilderness,  his  home  un 
der  the  great  trees;  how  every  leaf  on  the  trees  and  every 
blade  of  grass  has  its  joy  for  him  as  well  as  its  knowledge; 
how  he  curls  up  in  his  little  bark  shack  anr1  is  lulled  to  sleep 
by  the  sighing  of  the  wind  through  the  pine  tops.  He  told 
me  he  has  often  watched  the  stars  for  hours  at  a  time.  I  know 
there  is  a  waterfall  back  in  the  Black  Forest  somewhere  that 
Lewis  goes  to,  s,imply  to  sit  and  watch  the  water  tumble  over 
the  precipice." 

"Wetzel  is  a  wonderful  character,  even  to  those  who  know 
him  only  as  an  Indian  slayer  and  a  man  who  wants  no  other 
occupation.  Some  day  he  will  go  off  on  one  of  these  long 
jaunts  and  will  never  return.  That  is  certain.  The  day  is 
fast  approaching  when  a  man  like  Wetzel  will  be  of  no  use 
in  life.  Now,  he  ,is  a  necessity.  Like  Tige  he  can  smell  In 
dians.  Betty,  I  believe  Lewis  tells  you  so  much  and  is  so 
kind  and  gentle  toward  you  because  he  cares  for  you." 

"Of  course  Lew  likes  me.  I  know  he  does  and  I  want  him 
to,'*  said  Betty.  "But  he  does  not  care  as  you  seem  to  think. 
Grandmother  Watkins  said  the  same.  I  am  sure  both  of  you 
are  wrong." 


B  e  1 1  y    Z  a  n  e  161 

"Did  Dan's  mother  tell  you  that?  Well,  she's  pretty 
shrewd.  It's  quite  likely,  Betty,  quite  likely.  It  seems  tc 
me  you  are  not  so  quick  witted  as  you  used  to  be." 

"Why  so?"  asked  Betty,  quickly. 

"Well,  you  used  to  be  different  somehow,"  said  her  brother, 
as  he  patted  her  hand. 

"Do  you  mean  I  am  more  thoughtful?'" 

"Yes,  and  sometimes  you  seem  sad." 

"I  have  tried  to  be  brave  and — and  happy,"  said  Bett^ 
her  voice  trembling  slightly. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  you  have,  Betty.  You  have  done  won 
derfully  well  here  in  this  dead  place.  But  tell  me,  don't  be 
angry,  don't  you  think  too  much  of  some  one?" 

"You  have  no  rjght  to  ask  me  that,"  said  Betty,  flushing 
and  turning  away  toward  the  stairway. 

"Well,  well,  child,  don't  mind  me.  I  did  not  mean  any- 
thing.  There,  good  night,  Betty." 

Long  after  she  had  gone  up-stairs  Col.  Zane  sat  by  his 
fireside.  From  time  to  time  he  sighed.  He  thought  of  the 
old  Virginia  home  and  of  the  smile  of  hjis  mother.  It  seemed 
only  a  few  short  years  since  he  had  promised  her  that  he 
would  take  care  of  the  baby  sister.  How  had  he  kept  that 
promise,  made  when  Betty  was  a  little  thing  bouncing  on  his 
knee?  It  seemed  only  yesterday.  How  swift  the  flight  of 
time !  Already  Betty  was  a  woman ;  her  sweet,  gay  girlhood 
had  passed ;  already  a  shadow  had  fallen  on  her  face,  the 

shadow  of  a  secret  sorrow. 

********* 

March  with  jts  blustering  winds  had  departed,  and  now 
April's  showers  and  sunshine  were  gladdening  the  hearts  of 
the  settlers.  Patches  of  green  freshened  the  slopes  of  the 
hills ;  the  lilac  bushes  showed  tiny  leaves,  and  the  maple-buds 
were  bursting.  Yesterday  a  blue-bird — -surest  harbinger  of 
spring — had  alighted  on  the  fence-post  and  had  sung  his 
plaintive  song.  A  few  more  days  and  the  blossoms  were  out 
mingling  the.ir  pink  and  white  with  the  green;  the  red-bud, 
the  hawthorne,  and  the  dog-wood  were  in  bloom,  checkering 
the  hillsides. 


B  e  1 1  y    2  a  n  c 

"Bessie,  spring  is  here,"  said  Col.  Zane,  as  he  stood  in  the 
doorway.  "The  air  is  fresh,  the  sun  shines  warm,  the  birds 
lire  singing;  it  makes  me  feel  good." 

"Yes,  it  is  pleasant  to  have  spring  with  us  again,"  an 
swered  iris  wife.  "I  think,  though,  that.  I  i  winter  I  am  hap 
pier.  In  summed  I  am  always  worried  i.  am  afraid  for  the 
children  to  be  out  of  my  sight,  and  when  you  are  away  on  a 
hunt  I  am  distraught  until  you  are  home  safe." 

"Well,  if  the  redskins  let  us  alone  this  summer  it  will  be 
something  new,"  he  said,  laughing.  "By  the  way,  Bess. 
eome  new  people  came  to  the  fort  last  night.  They  rafted 
down  from  the  Monongahela  settlements.  Some  of  the  women 
suffered  considerably.  I  intend  to  offer  them  the  cabin  on  the 
hill  until  they  can  cut  the  timber  and  run  up  a  house.  Sam 
said  the  cabin  roof  leaked  and  the  chimney  smoked,  but  with 
a  little  work  I  think  they  can  be  made  more  comfortable  there 
than  at  the  block-house." 

"It  is  the  only  vacant  cabin  in  the  settlement.  I  can  sc~ 
commodate  the  women  folks  here." 

"Well,  we'll  see  about  it.  I  don't  want  you  and  Betty  in 
convenienced.  I'll  send  Sam  up  to  the  cabin  and  have  him 
fix  things  up  a  bit  and  make  it  more  habitable." 

The  door  opened,  admitting  Col.  Zane's  elder  boy.  The 
lad's  face  was  dirty,  his  nose  was  all  bloody,  and  a  big  bruise 
showed  over  his  right  eye. 

"For  the  land's  sake!"  exclaimed  his  mother.  "Look  at 
the  boy.  Noah,  corne  here.  What  have  you  been  doing?" 

Noah  crept  close  to  his  mother  and  grasping  her  apron  with 
both  hands  hid  his  face.  Mrs.  Zane  turned  the  boy  around 
and  wiped  his  discolored  features  with  a  wet  towel.  She 
gave  him  a  little  shake  and  said:  "Noah,  have  you  been 
fighting  again?" 

"Let  him  go  and  I'll  tell  you  about  it,"  said  the  Colonel, 
and  when  the  youngster  had  disappeared  he  continued: 
"Right  after  breakfast  Noah  went  with  me  down  to  the  null. 
I  noticed  several  children  playing  in  front  of  Reihart's 
blacksmith  shop.  I  went  in,  leaving  Noah  outside.  I  got 
the  plow-share  which  I  had  left  with  Reihart  to  be  repaired* 


Betty    Zane  163 

He  came  to  the  door  with  me  and  all  at  once  he  said :  *Loolt 
at  the  kids.'  I  looked  and  saw  Noah  walk  up  to  a  boy  and 
say  something  to  him.  The  lad  was  a  stranger,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  belongs  to  these  new  people  I  told  you  about.  He 
was  bigger  than  Noah.  At  first  the  older  boy  appeared  very 
friendly  and  evidently  wanted  to  join  the  others  in  their 
game.  I  guess  Noah  did  not  approve  of  this,  for  after  he 
had  looked  the  stranger  over  he  hauled  away  and  punched 
the  lad  soundly.  To  make  it  short  the  strange  boy  gave 
Noah  the  worst  beating  he  ever  got  in  his  life.  I  told  Noah 
to  come  straight  to  you  and  confess." 

"Well,  did  you  ever!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Zane.  "Noah  is  a 
bad  boy.  And  you  stood  and  watched  him  fight.  You  are 
laughing  about  it  now.  Ebenezer  Zane,  I  would  not  put  it 
beneath  you  to  set  Noah  to  fighting.  I  know  you  used  to 
make  the  little  niggers  fight.  Anyway,  it  serves  Noah  right 
and  I  hope  it  will  be  a  lesson  to  him." 

"I'll  make  you  a  bet,  Bessie,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  another 
laugh.  "I'll  bet  you  tiiat  unless  we  lock  him  up,  Noah  will 
fight  that  boy  every  day  or  every  time  he  meets  him.'* 

"I  won't  bet,"  said  Mrs.  Zane,  with  a  smile  of  resignation. 

Cl  Where's  Betts?  I  haven't  seen  her  this  morning.  I  am 
going  over  to  Short  Creek  to-morrow  or  next  day,  and  think 
I'll  take  her  with  me.  You  know  I  am  to  get  a  commissioD 
to  lay  out  several  settlements  along  the  river,  and  I  want  tfl 
get  some  work  finished  at  Short  Creek  this  spring.  Mrs, 
Raymer  will  be  delighted  to  have  Betty.  Shall  I  take  her?" 

"By  all  means.  A  visit  there  will  brighten  her  up  and  do 
her  good." 

"Well,  what  on  earth  have  you  been  doing?"  crjed  the 
Colonel.  His  remark  had  been  called  forth  by  a  charming 
vision  that  had  entered  by  the  open  door.  Betty — for  it  was 
she — wore  a  little  red  cap  set  jauntily  on  her  black  hair.  Har 
linsey  dress  was  crumpled  and  covered  with  hayseed. 

"I've  been  in  the  hay-mow,"  said  Betty,  waving  a  small 
basket.  "For  a  week  that  old  black  hen  has  circumvented 
me,  but  at  last  I  have  conquered.  I  found  the  nest  in  tb* 
farthest  corner  under  the  hay." 


Betty    Zane 

"How  did  you  get  up  jin  the  loft?"  inquired  Mrs.  Zane. 

"Bessie,  I  climbed  up  the  ladder  of  course.  I  acknowledge 
being  unusually  light-hearted  and  happy  this  morning,  but 
I  have  not  as  yet  grown  wings.  Sam  said  I  could  not  climb 
up  that  straight  ladder,  but  I  found  it  easy  enough." 

"You  should  not  climb  up  into  the  loft,"  said  Mrs.  Zane, 
in  a  severe  tone.  "Only  last  fall  Hugh  Bennet's  little  boy 
sl.id  off  the  hay  down  into  one  of  the  stalls  and  the  horse  kicked 
him  nearly  to  death." 

"Oh,  fiddlesticks,  Bessie,  I  am  not  a  baby,"  said  Betty 5  with 
vehemence.  "There  is  not  a  horse  in  the  barn  but  would 
ftand  on  his  hind  legs  before  he  would  step  on  me,  let  alone 
kick  me." 

"I  don't  know,  Betty,  but  I  think  that  black  horse  Mr. 
Clarke  left  here  would  kick  any  one,"  remarked  the  Colonel. 

"Oh,  no,  he  would  not  hurt  me." 

"Betty,  we  have  had  pleasant  weather  for  about  three 
days,"  said  the  Colonel,  gravely.  "In  that  time  you  have 
let  out  that  crazy  bear  of  yours  to  burn  everything  topsy 
turvy.  Only  yesterday  I  got  my  hands  in  the  paint  you  have 
put  on  your  canoe.  If  you  had  asked  my  advice  I  would 
have  told  you  that  painting  your  canoe  should  not  have  been 
done  for  a  month  yet.  Silas  told  me  you  fell  down  the  creek 
hill;  Sam  said  you  tried  to  drive  his  team  over  the  bluff,  and 
so  on.  We  are  happy  to  see  you  get  back  your  old  time 
spirits,  but  could  you  not  be  a  little  more  careful?  Your 
versatility  is  bewildering.  We  do  not  know  what  to  look  for 
next.  I  fully  expect  to  see  you  brought  to  the  house  some 
day  maimed  for  life,  or  all  that  beautiful  black  hair  gone  to 
decorate  some  Huron's  lodge." 

"I  tell  you  I  am  perfectly  delighted  that  the  weather  is 
again  so  I  can  go  out.  I  am  tired  to  death  of  staying  in 
doors.  This  morning  I  could  have  cried  for  very  joy.  Bessie 
will  soon  be  lecturing  me  about  Madcap.  I  must  not  ride 
farther  than  the  fort.  Well,  I  don't  care.  I  intend  to  ride 
all  over." 

**Betty,  I  do  not  wish  you  to  think  I  am  lecturing  yon," 
*aid  the  Colonel's  wife.  "But  you  are  as  wild  as  a  March  hare, 


Betty    Zane  16c 

and  some  one  must  tell  you  things.  Nor*  listen.  My  brother 
the  Major,  told  me  that  Simon  Girty,  the  renegade,  had  been 
heard  to  say  that  he  had  seen  Eb  Zane's  little  sister  and  that 
if  he  ever  got  his  hands  on  her  he  would  make  a  squaw  of  her. 
I  am  not  teasing  you.  I  am  telling  you  the  tvnt.h.  Girty 
saw  you  when  you  were  at  Fort  Pitt  two  years  ago.  Now 
what  would  you  do  .if  he  caught  you  on  one  of  ycur  lonely 
rides  and  carried  you  off  to  his  wigwam?  He  has  done  things 
like  that  before.  James  Girty  carried  off  one  of  the  John 
son  girls.  Her  brothers  tried  to  rescue  her  and  lost  their 
lives.  It  is  a  common  trick  of  the  Indians." 

"What  would  I  do  if  Mr.  Simon  Girty  tried  to  make  a 
squaw  of  me?"  exclaimed  Betty,  her  eyes  flashing  fire.  "Why, 
I'd  kill  him!" 

"I  believe  it,  Betts,  on  my  word  I  do,"  spoke  up  the  Colonel. 
"But  let  us  hope  you  may  never  see  Girty.  All  I  ask  is  that 
you  be  careful.  I  am  going  over  to  Short  Creek  to-morrow. 
Will  you  go  with  me?  I  know  Mrs.  Raymer  will  be  pleased 
to  see  you." 

"Oh,  Eb,  that  will  be  delightful!" 

"Very  well,  get  ready  and  we  shall  start  early  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

Two  weeks  later  Betty  returned  from  Short  Creek  and 
seemed  to  have  profited  much  by  her  short  visit.  Col.  Zane 
remarked  with  satisfaction  to  his  wife  that  Betty  had  re 
gained  all  her  former  cheerfulness. 

The  morning  after  Betty's  return  was  a  perfect  spring 
morning — the  first  in  that  month  of  May-days.  The  sun 
shone  bright  and  warm;  the  mayflowers  blossomed;  the  trail 
ing  arbutus  scented  the  a,ir;  everywhere  the  grass  and  the 
leaves  looked  fresh  and  green;  swallows  flitted  in  and  out  of 
the  barn  door;  the  blue-birds  twittered;  a  meadow-lark  car 
oled  forth  his  pure  melody,  and  the  busy  hum  of  bees  came 
from  the  fragrant  apple-blossoms. 

"Mis'  Betty,  Madcap  'pears  powerfo9  skitteiiish,"  said  old 
Sam,  when  he  had  led  the  pony  to  where  Betty  stood  on  the 
hitching  block.  "Whoa,  dar,  you  rascal." 

Betty  laughed  as  she  leaped  lightly  into  the  saddle,  and 


it>6  Betty    Zanc 

joon  she  was  flying  over  the  old  familiar  road,  down  across 
the  creek  bridge,  past  the  old  grist-mill,  around  the  fort  and 
then  out  on  the  river  bluff.  The  Indian  pony  was  fiery  and 
mettlesome.  He  pranced  and  side-stepped,  galloped  and 
trotted  by  turns.  He  seemed  as  glad  to  get  out  again  into 
the  warm  sunshine  as  was  Betty  herself.  He  tore  down  the 
road  a  mile  at  his  best  spec'"  Coming  back  Betty  pulled  him 
into  a  walk.  Presently  he*  musings  were  interrupted  by  a 
sharp  switch  in  the  face  from  a  twig  of  a  tree.  She  stopped 
the  pony  and  broke  off  the  offending  branch.  As  she  looked 
around  the  recollection  of  what  had  happened  to  her  in  that 
very  spot  flashed  into  her  mind.  It  was  here  that  she  had 
been  stopped  by  the  man  who  had  passed  almost  as  swiftly 
out  of  her  life  as  he  had  crossed  her  path  that  memorable 
afternoon.  She  fell  to  musing  on  the  old  perplexing  ques 
tion.  After  all  could  there  not  have  been  some  mistake? 
Perhaps  she  might  have  misjudged  him?  And  then  the  old 
spirit,  which  resented  her  thinking  of  him  in  that  softened 
mood,  rose  and  fought  the  old  battle  over  again.  But  as 
often  happened  the  mood  conquered,  and  Betty  permitted 
herself  to  sink  for  the  moment  into  the  sad  thoughts  which 
returned  like  a  mournful  strain  of  music  once  sung  by  be 
loved  voices,  now  forever  silent. 

She  could  not  resist  the  desire  to  ride  down  to  the  old 
sycamore.  The  pony  turned  into  the  bridle-path  that  led 
down  the  bluff  and  the  sure-footed  beast  picked  his  way 
carefully  over  the  roots  and  stones.  Betty's  heart  beat  quicker 
when  she  saw  the  noble  tree  under  whose  spreading  branches 
she  had  spent  the  happiest  day  of  her  life.  The  old  monarch 
of  the  forest  was  not  one  whit  changed  by  the  wild  winds 
of  winter.  The  dew  sparkled  on  the  nearly  full  grown  leaves ; 
the  little  sycamore  balls  were  already  as  large  as  marbles. 

Betty  drew  rein  at  the  top  of  the  bank  and  looked  absently 
at  the  tree  and  into  the  foam  covered  pool  beneath.  At  that 
moment  her  eyes  saw  nothing  physical.  They  held  the  far 
away  light  of  the  dreamer,  the  look  that  sees  so  much  of  the 
past  and  nothing  of  the  present. 

Presently  her  reflections  were  broken  by  the  actions  of  the 


Betty    Zane 

pony.  Madcap  had  thrown  up  her  head,  laid  back  her  ears, 
and  commenced  to  paw  the  ground  with  her  forefeet.  Betty 
looked  round  to  see  the  cause  of  Madcap's  excitement.  What 
was  that !  She  saw  a  tall  figure  clad  in  bro^vn  leaning  against 
the  stone.  She  saw  a  long  fishing-rod.  What  was  there  sc 
familiar  in  the  poise  of  that  figure?  Madcap  dislodged  t 
stone  from  the  path  and  it  went  rattling  down  the  rocky 
slope  and  fell  with  a  splash  into  the  water.  The  man  heard 
it,  turned  and  faced  the  hillside.  Betty  recognized  Alfred 
Clarke.  For  a  moment  she  believed  she  must  be  dreaming. 
She  had  had  many  dreams  of  the  old  sycamore.  She  looked 
again.  Yes,  it  was  he.  Pale,  worn,  and  older  he  undoubtedly 
looked,  but  the  features  were  surely  those  of  Alfred  Clarke. 
Her  heart  gave  a  great  bound  and  then  seemed  to  stop  beat 
ing  while  a  very  agony  of  joy  surged  over  her  and  made  he* 
faint.  So  he  still  lived.  That  was  her  first  thought,  glad  and 
joyous,  and  then  memory  returning,  her  face  went  white  as 
with  clenched  teeth  she  wheeled  Madcap  and  struck  her  witb 
the  switch.  Once  on  the  level  bluff  she  urged  her  toward  the 
house  at  a  furious  pace. 

Col.  Zane  had  just  stepped  out  of  the  barn  door  and  his 
face  took  on  an  expression  of  amazement  when  he  saw  the 
pony  come  tearing  up  the  road,  Betty's  hair  flying  in  the 
wind  and  with  a  face  as  white  as  if  she  were  pursued  by  & 
thousand  }^elling  Indians. 

"Say,  Betts,  what  the  deuce  is  wrong?"  cried  the  Colonel, 
when  Betty  reached  the  fence. 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  man  was  here  again?"  she 
demanded  in  intense  excitement. 

"That  man!  What  man?"  asked  Col.  Zane,  considerably 
taken  back  by  this  angry  apparition. 

"Mr.  Clarke,  of  course.  Just  as  if  you  did  not  know.  I 
suppose  you  thought  it  a  fine  opportunity  for  one  of  your 
jokes." 

"Oh,  Clarke.  Well,  the  fact  is  I  just  found  it  out  myself. 
Haven't  I  been  away  as  well  as  you.  I  certainly  cannot 
imagine  how  any  man  could  create  such  evident  excitement  in 
your  mind.  Poor  Clarke,  what  has  he  done  now?" 


168  Betty    Zaner 

"You  might  have  told  me.  Somebody  could  have  told  me 
nnd  saved  me  from  making  a  fool  of  myself,"  retorted  Betty, 
seho  was  plainly  on  the  verge  of  tears.  "I  rode  down  to  the 
aid  sycamore  tree  and  he  saw  me  in,  of  all  the  places  in  the 
world,  the  one  place  where  I  would  not  want  him  to  see  me." 

"Huh!"  said  the  Colonel,  who  often  gave  vent  to  the  In 
dian  exclamation.  "Is  that  all?  I  thought  something  had 
happened." 

"All!  Is  it  not  enough?  I  would  rather  have  died.  He 
is  a  man  and  he  will  think  I  followed  him  down  there,  that 
I  was  thinking  of — that — Oh!"  cried  Betty,  passionately, 
and  then  she  strode  into  the  house,  slammed  the  door,  and 
left  the  Colonel,  lost  in  wonder. 

"Humph!  These  women  beat  me.  I  can't  make  them  out, 
and  the  older  I  grow  the  worse  I  get,"  he  said,  as  he  led  the 
pony  into  the  stable. 

Betty  ran  up-stairs  to  her  room,  her  head  in  a  whirL 
Stronger  than  the  surprise  of  Alfred's  unexpected  appear 
ance  in  Fort  Henry  and  stronger  than  the  mortification  in 
having  been  discovered  going  to  a  spot  she  should  have  been 
too  proud  to  remember  was  the  bitter  sweet  consciousness 
that  his  mere  presence  had  thrilled  her  through  and  through. 
It  hurt  her  and  made  her  hate  herself  in  that  moment.  She 
hid  her  face  in  shame  at  the  thought  that  she  could  not  help 
being  glad  to  see  the  man  who  had  only  trifled  with  her,  the 
man  who  had  considered  the  acquaintance  of  so  little  conse 
quence  that  he  had  never  taken  the  trouble  to  write  her  a  line 
or  send  her  a  message.  She  wrung  her  trembling  hands. 
She  endeavored  to  still  that  throbbing  heart  and  to  conquer 
that  sweet  vague  feeling  which  had  crept  over  her  and  made 
her  weak.  The  tears  began  to  come  and  with  a  sob  she  threw 
herself  on  the  bed  and  buried  her  head  in  the  pillow. 

An  hour  after,  when  Betty  had  quieted  herself  and  had 
seated  herself  by  the  window  a  light  knock  sounded  on  the 
door  and  Col.  Zane  entered.  He  hesitated  and  came  in  rather 
timidly,  for  Betty  was  not  to  be  taken  liberties  with,  and  see- 
*ng  her  by  the  window  lie  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down  by 
aer  side. 


Betty    Zane  169 

Betty  did  riot  remember  her  father  or  her  mother.  Long 
ago  when  she  was  a  child  she  had  gone  to  her  brother,  la.id  her 
head  on  his  shoulder  and  told  him  all  her  troubles.  The  de 
sire  grew  strong  within  her  now.  There  was  comfort  in  the 
strong  clasp  of  his  hand.  She  was  not  proof  against  it,  and 

her  dark  head  fell  on  his  shoulder. 

********* 

Alfred  Clarke  had  indeed  made  his  reappearance  in.  Fort 
Henry.  The  preceding  October  when  he  left  the  settlement 
to  go  on  the  expedition  up  the  Monongahela  River  his  in 
tention  had  been  to  return  to  the  fort  as  soon  as  he  had  fin 
ished  bis  work,  but  what  he  did  do  was  only  another  illustra 
tion  of  that  fatality  which  affects  everything.  Man  hopefully 
makes  his  plans  and  an  inexorable  destiny  works  out  what 
it  has  in  store  for  him. 

The  men  of  the  expedition  returned  to  Fort  Henry  in  due 
time,  but  Alfred  had  been  unable  to  accompany  them.  He 
had  sustained  a  painful  injury  and  had  been  compelled  to  go 
to  Fort  Pitt  for  medical  assistance.  While  there  he  had  re 
ceived  word  that  his  mother  was  lying  very  ill  at  his  old  home 
in  Southern  Virginia  and  if  he  wished  to  see  her  alive  he 
must  not  delay  in  reaching  her  bedside.  He  left  Fort  Pitt 
at  once  and  went  to  his  home,  where  he  remained  until  his 
mother's  death.  She  had  been  the  only  tie  that  bound  him  to 
the  old  home,  and  now  that  she  was  gone  he  determined  to 
leave  the  scene  of  his  boyhood  forever. 

Alfred  was  the  rightful  hejr  to  all  of  the  property,  but 
an  unjust  and  selfish  stepfather  stood  between  him  and  any 
contentment  he  might  have  found  there.  He  decided  he  would 
he  a  soldier  of  fortune.  He  loved  the  daring  life  of  a  ranger, 
and  preferred  to  take  his  chances  with  the  hardy  settlers  on 
the  border  rather  than  live  the  idle  life  of  a  gentleman  farmer. 
He  declared  his  intention  to  his  step-father,  who  ill-concealed 
his  satisfaction  at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken.  Then  Alfred 
packed  his  belongings,  secured  his  mother's  jewels,  and  with 
one  sad,  backward  glance  rode  away  from  the  stately  old 
mansion. 

It  was  Sunday  morning  and  Clarke  had  been  two  days  in 


170  Betty    Zane 

Fort  Henry.  From  his  little  room  in  the  block-house  he  sur 
veyed  the  well-remembered  scene.  The  rolling  hills,  the 
broad  river,  the  green  forests  seemed  like  old  friends. 

"Here  1  am  again,"  he  mused.  "What  a  fool  a  man  can 
be.  I  have  left  a  fine  old  plantation,  slaves,  horses,  a  country 
noted  for  ,its  pretty  women — for  what?  Here  there  can  be 
nothing  for  me  but  Indians,  hard  work,  privation,  and  trou 
ble.  Yet  I  could  not  get  here  quickly  enough.  Pshaw !  What 
use  to  speak  of  the  possibilities  of  a  new  country.  I  cannot 
deceive  myself.  It  is  she.  I  would  walk  a  thousand  miles 
and  starve  myself  for  months  just  for  one  glimpse  of  her 
sweet  face.  Knowing  this  what  care  I  for  all  the  rest.  How 
stra"  ije  she  should  ride  down  to  the  old  sycamore  tree  yester 
day  ^t  the  moment  I  was  there  and  thinking  of  her.  Evi 
dently  she  had  just  returned  from  her  visit.  I  wonder  if  she 
ever  cared.  I  wonder  if  she  ever  thinks  of  me.  Shall  I  accept 
that  incident  as  a  happy  augury?  Well,  I  am  here  to  find  out 
and  find  out  I  will.  Aha !  there  goes  the  church  bell." 

Laughing  a  little  at  his  eagerness  he  brushed  his  coat,  put 
on  his  cap  and  went  down  stairs.  The  settlers  with  their 
families  were  going  into  the  meeting  house.  As  Alfred 
started  up  the  steps  he  met  Lydia  Boggs. 

"Why,  Mr.  Clarke,  I  heard  you  had  returned,"  she  said, 
smiling  pleasantly  and  extending  her  hand.  "Welcome  to 
the  fort.  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 

While  they  were  chatting  her  father  and  Col.  Zane  came 
up  and  both  greeted  the  young  man  warmly. 

"Well,  well,  back  on  the  frontier,"  said  the  Colonel,  in  his 
hearty  way.  "Glad  to  see  you  at  the  fort  again.  I  tell  you, 
Clarke,  I  have  taken  a  fancy  to  that  black  horse  you  left  me 
last  fall.  I  did  not  know  what  to  think  when  Jonathan 
brought  back  my  horse.  To  tell  you  the  truth  I  always 
looked  for  you  to  come  back.  What  have  you  been  doing  all 
Winter?" 

"I  have  been  f  .1  I  jme.  My  mother  was  ill  all  winter  and 
•he  died  in  April." 

"Mr  lad,  that's  bad  news.  I  am  sorry,"  said  Col.  Zane, 
putting  his  hand  kindly  on  the  young  man's  shoulder.  "1 


Betty    Zane  111 

was  wondering  what  gave  you  that  older  and  graver  look. 
It's  hard,  lad,  but  it's  the  way  of  life." 

"I  have  come  back  to  get  my  old  place  with  you,  Col.  Zane, 
if  you  will  give  it  to  me." 

"I  will,  and  can  promise  you  more  in  the  future.  I  am 
going  to  open  a  road  through  to  Maysville,  Kentucky,  and 
start  several  new  settlements  along  the  river.  I  will  need 
young  men,  and  am  more  than  glad  you  have  returned." 

"Thank  you,  Col.  Zane.  That  is  more  than  I  could  have 
hoped  for." 

Alfred  caught  sight  of  a  trim  figure  in  a  gray  linsey  gown 
coming  down  the  road.  There  were  several  young  people 
approaching,  but  he  saw  only  Betty.  By  some  evil  chance 
Betty  walked  with  Ralfe  Miller,  and  for  some  mysterious 
reason,  which  women  always  keep  to  themselves,  she  smiled 
and  looked  up  into  his  face  at  0  time  of  all  times 
she  should  not  have  done  so.  Alfred's  heart  turned 
to  lead. 

Wher  the  young  people  reached  the  steps  the  eyes  of  the 
rivals  met  for  one  brief  second,  but  that  was  long  enough  for 
them  to  understand  each  other.  They  did  not  speak.  Lydia 
hesitated  and  looked  toward  Betty. 

"Betty,  here  is "  began  Col.  Zane,  but  Betty  passed 

them  with  flaming  cheeks  and  with  not  so  much  as  a  glance  at 
Alfred.  It  was  an  awkward  moment  for  him. 

"Let  us  go  in,"  he  said  composedly,  and  they  all  filed  into 
the  church. 

As  long  as  he  lived  Alfred  Clarke  never  forgot  that  hour. 
His  pride  kept  him  chained  in  his  seat.  Outwardly  he  main 
tained  his  composure,  tut  inwardly  his  brain  seemed  throb 
bing,  whirling,  bursting.  What  an  idiot  he  had  been!  He 
understood  now  why  his  letter  had  never  been  answered.  Betty 
loved  Miller,  a  man  who  hated  him,  a  man  who  would  leave  no 
stone  unturned  to  destroy  even  a  little  liking  which  she  might 
have  frit  for  him.  Once  again  Miller  had  crossed  his  path 
and  worsted  him.  With  a  sudden  sickening  sense  of  despair 
he  realized  that  all  his  fond  hopes  had  been  but  dreams,  a 
fool's  dreams.  The  dream  of  that  moment  when  he  would 


172  Betty     Zane 

give  her  his  mother's  jewels,  the  dream  of  that  charming  face 
uplifted  to  his,  the  dream  of  the  little  cottage  to  which  he 
would  hurry  after  his  day's*  work  and  find  her  waiting  at  the 
gate, — these  dreams  must  be  dispelled  forever.  He  could 
barely  wait  until  the  end  of  the  service.  He  wanted  to  be 
alone;  to  fight  it  out  with  himself;  to  crush  out  of  his  heart 
that  fair  image.  At  length  the  hour  ended  and  he  got  out 
before  the  congregation  and  hurried  to  his  room. 

Betty  had  company  all  that  afternoon  and  it  was  late  in 
the  day  when  Col.  Zane  ascended  the  stairs  and  entered  her 
room  to  find  her  alone. 

"Betty,  I  wish  to  know  why  you  ignored  Mr.  Clarke  this 
morning?"  said  Col.  Zane,  looking  down  on  his  sister.  There 
was  a  gleam  in  his  eye  and  an  expression  about  his  mouth  sel 
dom  seen  in  the  Colonel's  features. 

"I  do  not  know  that  it  concerns  any  one  but  myself,"  an 
swered  Betty  quickly,  as  her  head  went  higher  and  her  eyes 
flashed  with  a  gleam  not  unlike  that  in  her  brother's. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  do  not  agree  with  you,"  replied 
Col.  Zane.  "It  does  concern  others.  You  cannot  io  things 
like  that  in  this  little  place  where  every  one  knows  all  about 
you  and  expect  it  to  pass  unnoticed.  Martin's  wife  saw  you 
cut  Clarke  and  you  know  what  a  gossip  she  is.  Already  every 
one  is  talking  about  you  and  Clarke." 

"To  that  I  am  indifferent." 

"But  I  care.  I  won't  have  people  talking  about  you,"  re 
plied  the  Colonel,  who  began  to  lose  patience.  Usually  he  had 
the  best  temper  imaginable.  "Last  fall  you  allowed  Clarke  to 
pay  you  a  good  deal  of  attention  and  apparently  you  were 
on  good  terms  when  he  went  away.  Now  that  he  has  re* 
turned  you  won't  even  speak  to  him.  You  let  this  fellow 
Miller  run  after  you.  In  my  estimation  Miller  is  not  to  be 
compared  to  Clarke,  and  judging  from  the  warm  greetings  I 
saw  Clarke  receive  this  morning,  there  are  a  number  of  folk 
who  agree  with  me.  Not  that  I  am  praising  Clarke.  I  sim 
ply  say  this  because  to  Bessie,  to  Jack,  to  everyone,  your  act 
is  incomprehensible.  People  are  calling  you  a  flirt  and  saying 
that  they  would  prefer  some  country  manners." 


Betty    Zane 

"I  have  not  allowed  Mr.  Miller  to  run  after  me,  as  you  are 
pleased  to  term  it,"  retorted  Betty  with  indignation.  "I  do 
not  like  him.  I  never  see  him  any  more  unless  you  or  Bessie 
or  some  one  else  is  present.  You  know  that.  I  cannot  pre 
vent  him  from  walking  to  church  with  me." 

"No,  I  suppose  not,  but  are  you  entirely  innocent  of  those 
sweet  glances  which  you  gave  him  this  morning?" 

"I  did  not,"  cried  Betty  with  an  angry  flush.  "I  won't  be 
called  a  flirt  by  you  or  by  anyone  else.  The  moment  I  am 
civil  to  some  man  all  these  old  maids  and  old  women  say  I  am 
flirting.  It  is  outrageous." 

"Now,  Betty,  don't  get  excited.  We  are  getting  from  the 
question.  Why  are  you  not  civil  to  Clarke?"  asked  Col.  Zane. 
She  did  not  answer  and  after  a  moment  he  continued.  "If 
there  is  anything  about  Clarke  that  I  do  not  know  and  that  I 
should  know  I  want  you  to  tell  me.  Personally  I  like  the  fel 
low.  I  am  not  saying  that  to  make  you  think  you  ought  to 
like  him  because  I  do.  You  might  not  care  for  him  at  all, 
but  that  woud  be  no  good  reason  for  your  actions.  Betty,  in 
these  frontier  settlements  a  man  is  soon  known  for  his  real 
worth.  Every  one  at  the  Fort  liked  Clarke.  The  youngsters 
adored  him.  Bessie  liked  him  very  much.  You  know  he  and 
Isaac  became  good  friends.  I  think  he  acted  like  a  man  to 
day.  I  saw  the  look  Miller  gave  him.  I  don't  like  this  fel 
low  Miller,  anyway.  Now,  I  am  taking  the  trouble  to  tell 
you  my  side  of  the  argument.  It  is  not  a  question  of  your 
liking  Clarke — that  is  none  of  my  affair.  It  is  simply  that 
either  he  is  not  the  man  we  all  think  him  or  you  are  acting  in 
a  way  unbecoming  a  Zane.  I  do  not  purpose  to  have  this 
state  of  affairs  continue.  Now,  enough  of  this  beating  about 
ihe  bush." 

Betty  had  seen  the  Colonel  angry  more  than  once,  but  never 
with  her.  It  was  quite  certain  she  had  angered  him  and  she 
forgot  her  own  resentment.  Her  heart  had  warmed  with  her 
brother's  praise  of  Clarke.  Then  as  she  remembered  the  past 
she  felt  a  scorn  for  her  weakness  and  such  a  revulsion  of  feel 
ing  that  she  cried  out  passionately: 

"He  is  a  trifler.     He  never  cared  for  rr.e.     He  insulted 


174  Betty    Zane 

Col.  Zane  reached  for  his  hat,  got  up  without  saying  an 
other  word  and  went  down  stairs. 

Betty  had  not  intended  to  say  quite  what  she  had  and  in 
stantly  regretted  her  hasty  words.  She  called  to  the  Colonel, 
but  he  did  not  answer  her,  nor  return. 

"Betty,  what  in  the  world  could  you  have  said  to  my  hus 
band?"  said  Mrs.  Zane  as  she  entered  the  room.  She  was 
breathless  from  running  up  the  stairs  and  her  comely  face 
wore  a  look  of  concern.  "He  was  as  white  as  that  sheet  and 
he  stalked  off  toward  the  Fort  without  a  word  to  me." 

"I  simply  told  him  Mr.  Clarke  had  insulted  me,"  answered 
Betty  calmly. 

"Great  Heavens!  Betty,  what  have  you  done?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Zane.  ''You  don't  know  Eb  when  he  is  angry.  He  is 
a,  big  fool  over  you,  anyway.  He  is  liable  to  kill  Clarke." 

Betty's  blocc  was  up  now  and  she  said  that  would  not  be  a 
/latter  of  much  importance. 

"When  did  he  insult  you?"  asked  the  elder  woman,  yielding 
to  her  natural  curiosity. 

"It  was  last  October." 

"Pooh !  It  took  you  a  long  time  to  tell  it.  I  don't  believe 
it  amounted  to  much.  Mr.  Clarke  did  not  appear  to  be  the 
sort  of  a  man  to  insult  anyone.  All  the  girls  were  crazy  about 
him  last  year.  If  he  was  not  all  right  they  would  not  have 
been." 

"I  do  not  care  if  they  were.     The  girls  can  have  him  and 
welcome.     I  don't  want  him.     I  never  did.     I  am  tired  of 
hearing  everyone  eulogize  him.     I  hate  him.     Do  you  hear? 
I  hate  him!     And  I  wish  you  would  go  away  and  leave  m« 
alone." 

"Well,  Betty,  all  I  will  say  is  that  you  are  a  remarkable 
young  woman,"  answered  Mrs.  Zane,  who  saw  plainly  that 
Betty's  violent  outburst  was  a  prelude  to  a  storm  of  weeping. 
"I  don't  believe  a  word  you  have  said.  I  don't  believe  you 
hate  him.  There !" 

Col.  Zane  walked  straight  to  the  Fort,  entered  the  block 
house  and  knocked  on  the  door  of  Clarke's  room.  A  voice 
bade  him  come  in.  He  shoved  opep  the  door  and  went  into 


Betty    Zane  175 

the  room.  Clarke  had  evidently  just  returned  from  a  tramp 
in  the  hills,  for  his  garments  were  covered  with  burrs 
and  his  boots  were  dusty.  He  looked  tired,  but  his  face  was 
calm. 

"Why,  Col.  Zane!  Have  a  seat.  What  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

"I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  explain  a  remark  of  my  sister's.'* 

"Very  well,  I  am  at  your  service,"  answered  Alfred  slowly, 
lighting  his  pipe,  after  which  he  looked  straight  into  Col. 
Zane's  face. 

"My  sister  informs  me  that  you  insulted  her  last  fall  before 
you  left  the  Fort.  I  am  sure  you  are  neither  a  liar  nor  a 
coward,  and  I  expect  you  to  answer  as  a  man." 

"Col.  Zane,  I  am  not  a  liar,  and  I  hope  I  am  not  a  coward," 
said  Alfred  coolty.  He  took  a  long  pull  on  his  pipe  and  blew 
a  puff  of  white  smoke  toward  the  ceiling. 

"I  believe  you,  but  I  must  have  an  explanation.  There 
is  something  wrong  somewhere.  I  saw  Betty  pass  you  with 
out  speaking  this  morning.  I  did  not  like  it  and  I  took  her 
to  task  about  it.  She  then  said  you  had  insulted  her.  Betty 
is  prone  to  exaggerate,  especially  when  angry,  but  she  never 
told  me  a  lie  in  her  life.  Ever  since  you  pulled  Isaac  out  of 
the  river  I  have  taken  an  interest  in  you.  That's  why  I'd 
like  to  avoid  any  trouble.  But  this  thing  has  gone  far  enough. 
Now  be  sensible,  swallow  your  pride  and  let  me  hear  your 
side  of  the  story." 

Alfred  had  turned  pale  at  his  visitor's  first  words.  There 
was  no  mistaking  Col.  Zane's  manner.  Alfred  well  knew  that 
the  Colonel,  if  he  found  Betty  had  really  been  insulted,  would 
call  him  out  and  kill  him.  Col.  Zane  spoke  quietly,  ever, 
kindly,  but  there  was  an  undercurrent  of  intense  feeling  in  his 
voice,  a  certain  deadly  intent  which  boded  ill  to  anyone  who 
might  cross  him  at  that  moment.  Alfred's  first  impulse  was  a 
reckless  desire  to  tell  Col.  Zane  he  had  nothiner  to  explain  and 
that  he  stood  ready  to  give  any  satisfaction  in  his  power.  But 
he  wisely  thought  better  of  this.  It  struck  him  that  this 
would  not  be  fair,  for  no  matter  what  the  erirl  had  done  the 
Colonel  had  always  been  his  friend.  So  Alfred  pulled  himself 


176  Betty    Zane 

together  and  resolved  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole 
affair. 

"Col.  Zane,  I  do  not  feel  that  I  owe  your  sister  anything, 
and  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  is  simply  because  you  have 
always  been  my  friend,  and  I  do  not  want  you  to  have  any 
wrong  ideas  about  me.  I'll  tell  you  the  truth  and  you  can 
be  the  judge  as  to  whether  or  not  I  insulted  your  sister.  I 
fell  in  love  with  her,  almost  at  first  sight.  The  night  after 
the  Indians  recaptured  your  brother,  Betty  and  I  stood  out  in 
the  moonlight  and  she  looked  so  bewitching  and  I  felt  so  sorry 
for  her  and  so  carried  away  by  my  love  for  her  that  I  yielded 
to  a  momentary  impulse  and  kissed  her.  I  simply  could  not 
help  it.  There  is  no  excuse  for  me.  She  struck  me  across  the 
face  and  ran  into  the  house.  I  had  intended  that  night  to  tell 
her  of  my  love  and  place  my  fate  in  her  hands,  but,  of  course, 
the  unfortunate  occurrence  made  that  impossible.  As  I  was 
to  leave  at  dawn  next  day,  I  remained  up  all  night,  thinking 
what  I  ought  to  do.  Finally  I  decided  to  write.  I  wrote  her 
a  letter,  telling  her  all  and  begging  her  to  become  my  wife. 
I  gave  the  letter  to  your  slave,  Sam,  and  told  him  it  was  a 
matter  of  life  and  death,  and  not  to  lose  the  letter  nor  fail  to 
give  it  to  Betty.  I  have  had  no  answer  to  that  letter.  To- 
day  she  coldly  ignored  me.  That  is  my  story,  Col.  Zane." 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  she  got  the  letter,"  said  Col.  Zane. 
"She  has  not  acted  like  a  young  lady  who  has  had  the  privi 
lege  of  saying  'yes'  or  'no'  to  you.  And  Sam  never  had  any 
use  for  you.  He  disliked  you  from  the  first,  and  never  failed 
to  say  something  against  you." 

"I'll  kill  that  d — n  nigger  if  he  did  not  deliver  that  letter," 
said  Clarke,  jumping  up  in  his  excitement.  "I  never  thought 
of  that.  Good  Heaven!  What  could  she  have  thought  of 
me?  She  would  think  I  had  gone  away  without  a  word.  If 
she  knew  I  really  loved  her  she  could  not  think  so  terribly 
of  me." 

"There  is  more  to  be  explained,  but  I  am  satisfied  with  your 
side  of  it,"  said  Col.  Zane.  "Now  I'll  go  to  Sam  and  see 
what  has  become  of  that  letter.  I  am  glad  I  am  justified  in 
thinking  of  you  as  I  hare.  I  imagine  this  thing  has  hurt  you 


Betty    Zane  177 

and  I  don't  wonder  at  it.  Maybe  we  can  untangle  the  prob 
lem  yet.  My  advice  would  be — but  never  mind  that  now. 
Anyway,  I'm  your  friend  in  this  matter.  I'll  let  you  know 
the  result  of  my  talk  with  Sam." 

"I  thought  that  young  fellow  was  a  gentleman,"  mused 
Col.  Zane  as  he  crossed  the  green  square  and  started  up  the 
hill  toward  the  cabins.  He  found  the  old  negro  seated  on  his 
doorstep. 

"Sam,  what  did  you  do  with  a  letter  Mr.  Clarke  gave  you 
last  October  and  instructed  you  to  delrior  to  Betty?" 

"I  dun  recollec'  no  lettah,  sah,"  replied  Sam. 

"Now,  Sam,  don't  lie  about  it.  Clarke  has  just  told  me 
that  he  gave  you  the  letter.  What  did  you  do  with  it  ?" 

"Massa  Zane,  I  ain  dun  seen  no  lettah,"  answered  the  old 
'darkey,  taking  a  dingy  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  rolling  his 
eyes  at  his  master. 

"If  you  lie  again  I  will  punish  you,"  said  Col.  Zane  sternly. 
"You  are  getting  old,  Sam,  and  I  would  not  like  to  whip 
you,  but  I  will  if  you  do  not  find  that  letter." 

Sam  grumbled,  and  shuffled  inside  the  cabin.  Col.  Zane 
heard  him  rummaging  around.  Presently  he  came  back  to  the 
'door  and  handed  a  very  badly  soiled  paper  to  the  Colonel. 

"What  possessed  you  to  do  chis,  Sam?  You  have  always 
been  honest.  Your  act  has  caused  great  misunderstanding 
and  it  might  have  led  to  worse." 

"He's  one  of  dem  no  good  Southern  white  trash ;  he's  good 
fer  nut  tin',"  said  Sam.  "I  saw  yo'  sistah,  Mis'  Betty,  wif 
him,  and  I  seen  she  was  gittin'  fond  of  him,  and  I  says  I  ain't 
gwinter  have  Mis'  Betty  runnin'  off  wif  him.  And  I'se  never 
gibbin  de  lettah  to  her." 

That  was  all  the  explanation  Sam  would  vouchsafe,  and 
Col.  Zane,  knowing  it  would  be  useless  to  say  more  to  the  well- 
meaning  but  ignorant  and  superstitious  old  negro,  turned  and 
wended  his  way  back  to  the  house.  He  looked  at  the  paper 
and  saw  that  it  was  addressed  to  Elizabeth  Zane,  and  that  the 
ink  was  faded  until  the  letters  were  scarcely  visible. 

"WTiat  have  you  there?"  asked  his  wife,  who  had  watched 
him  go  up  the  hill  to  the  negro's  cabin.  Sne  breathed  a  sigh 


178  Betty    Zane 

of  relief  when  she  saw  that  her  husband's  face  had  recovered 
its  usual  placid  expression. 

"It  is  a  little  letter  for  that  young  fire-brand  up  stairs,  and 
I  believe  it  will  clear  up  the  mystery.  Clarke  gave  it  to  Sam 
last  fall  and  Sam  never  gave  it  to  Betty." 

"I  hope  with  all  my  heart  it  may  settle  Betty.  She  worries 
me  to  death  with  her  love  affairs." 

Col.  Zane  went  up  stairs  and  found  the  young  lady  exactly 
as  he  had  left  her.  She  gave  an  impatient  toss  of  her  head  as 
he  entered. 

"Well,  Madam,  I  have  here  something  that  may  excite  even 
your  interest,"  he  said  cheerily. 

"What?"  asked  Betty  with  a  start.  She  flushed  crimson 
when  she  saw  the  letter  and  at  first  refused  to  take  it  from 
her  brother.  She  was  at  a  less  to  understand  his  cheerful  de 
meanor.  He  had  been  anything  but  pleasant  a  few  moments 
since. 

"Here,  take  it.  It  is  a  letter  from  Mr.  Clarke  which  you 
should  have  received  last  fall.  That  last  morning  he  gave  this 
letter  to  Sam  to  deliver  to  you,  and  the  crazy  old  nigger  kept 
it.  However,  it  is  too  late  to  talk  of  that,  only  it  does  seem 
a  great  pity.  I  feel  sorry  for  both  of  you.  Clarke  never 
will  forgive  you,  even  if  you  want  him  to,  which  I  am  sure 
you  do  not.  I  don't  know  exactly  what  is  in  this  letter,  but  I 
know  it  will  make  you  ashamed  to  think  you  did  not  trust 
him." 

With  this  parting  reproof  the  Colonel  walked  out,  leaving 
Betty  completely  bewildered.  The  words  "too  late,"  "never 
forgive,"  and  "a  great  pity"  rang  through  her  head.  What 
did  he  mean?  She  tore  the  letter  open  with  trembling  hands 
and  holding  it  up  to  the  now  fast-waning  light,  she  read? 

"Dear  Betty: 

"If  you  had  waited  only  a  moment  longer  I  know  you  would 
not  have  been  so  angry  with  me.  The  words  I  wanted  so 
much  to  say  choked  me  and  I  could  not  speak  them.  I  love 
you.  I  have  loved  you  from  the  very  first  moment,  that 
blessed  moment  when  I  looked  up  over  your  pony's  head  to  see 


Betty    Zaiie  179 


the  sweetest  face  the  sun  ever  shone  on.  m  be  the  happiest 
man  on  earth  if  you  will  say  you  care  a  little  for  me  and 
promise  to  be  my  wife. 

"It  was  wrong  to  kiss  you  and  I  beg  your  forgiveness, 
Could  you  but  see  your  face  as  I  saw  it  last  night  in  the  moon 
light,  I  would  not  need  to  plead:  you  would  know  that  the 
impulse  which  swayed  me  was  irresistible.  In  that  kiss  I  gave 
you  my  hope,  my  love,  my  life,  my  all.  Let  it  plead  for  me. 

"I  expect  to  return  from  Ft.  Pitt  in  about  six  or  eight 
weeks,  but  I  cannot  wait  until  then  for  your  answer. 

"With  hope  I  sign  myself, 

"Yours  until  death, 

"ALFRED." 

Betty  read  the  letter  through.  The  page  blurred  before 
her  eyes;  a  sensation  of  oppression  and  giddiness  made  her 
reach  out  helplessly  with  both  hands.  Then  she  slipped  for 
ward  and  fell  on  the  floor.  For  the  first  time  in  all  her  young 
life  Betty  had  fainted.  Col.  Zane  found  her  lying  pale  and 
quiet  under  the  window. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

YANTWAIA,  or,  as  he  was  more  com 
monly  called,  Cornplanter,  was  origin 
ally  a  Seneca  chief,  but  when  the  five 
war  tribes  consolidated,  forming  the 
historical  "Five  Nations,"  he  became 
their  leader.  An  old  historian  said  of 
this  renowned  chieftain:  "Tradition 
says  that  the  blood  of  a  famous  white 
man  coursed  through  the  veins  of  Corn- 
planter.  The  tribe  he  led  was  origin 
ally  ruled  by  an  Indian  queen  of  singular  power  and 
beauty.  She  was  born  to  govern  her  people  by  the  force  of 
her  character.  Many  a  great  chief  importuned  her  to  become 
his  wife,  but  she  preferred  to  cling  to  her  power  and  dignity. 
When  this  white  man,  then  a  very  young  man,  came  to  the 
Ohio  valley  the  queen  fell  in  love  with  him,  and  Cornplanter 
was  their  son." 

Cornplanter  lived  to  a  great  age.  He  was  a  wise  counsellor, 
a  great  leader,  and  he  died  when  he  was  one  hundred  years  old, 
having  had  more  conceded  to  him  by  the  white  men  than  any 
other  chieftain.  General  Washington  wrote  of  him:  "The 
merits  of  Cornplanter  and  his  friendship  for  the  United 
States  are  well  known  and  shall  not  be  forgotten." 

But  Cornplanter  had  not  always  been  a  friend  to  the  pale 
faces.  During  Dunmore's  war  and  for  years  after,  he  was 
one  of  the  most  vindictive  of  the  savage  leaders  against  the 
invading  pioneers. 

It  was  during  this  period  of  Cornplanter's  activity  against 
the  whites  that  Isaac  Zane  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  into  the 
great  chief's  power. 

We  remember  Isaac  last  when,  lost  in  the  woods,  weak  from 
hunger  and  exposure,  he  had  crawled  into  a  thicket  and  had 
gone  to  sleep.  He  was  awakened  by  a  drg  licking  his  face. 
He  heard  Indian  voices.  He  got  up  and  ran  as  fast  as  he 

could,  but  exhausted  as  he  was  be  proved  no  match  for  his 

is) 


182  Betty    Zane 

pursuers.  They  came  up  with  him  and  seeing  that  he  was 
unable  to  defend  himself  they  grasped  him  by  the  arms  and 
led  him  down  a  well-worn  bridle-path. 

"D n  poor  run.  No  good  legs,"  said  one  of  his  captors, 

and  at  this  the  other  two  Indians  laughed.  Then  they 
whooped  and  yelled,  at  which  signal  other  Indians  joined 
them.  Isaac  saw  that  they  were  leading  him  into  a  large 
encampment.  He  asked  the  big  savage  who  led  him  what 
camp  it  was,  and  learned  that  he  had  fallen  into  the  liands  of 
Cornplanter. 

While  being  marched  through  the  large  Indian  village 
Isaac  saw  unmistakable  indications  of  war.  There  was  a  busy 
hum  on  all  sides ;  the  squaws  were  preparing  large  quantities 
of  buffalo  meat,  cutting  it  in  long,  thin  strips,  and  we>e  parch 
ing  corn  in  stone  vessels.  The  braves  were  cleaning  rifles, 
sharpening  tomahawks,  and  mixing  war  paints.  All  these 
things  Isaac  knew  to  be  preparations  for  long  marches  and 
for  battle.  That  night  he  heard  speech  after  speech  in  the 
lodge  next  to  the  one  in  which  he  lay,  but  they  were  in  an  un 
known  tongue.  Later  he  heard  the  yelling  of  the  Indians 
and  the  dull  thud  of  their  feet  as  they  stamped  on  the  ground. 
He  heard  the  ring  of  the  tomahawks  as  they  were  struck  into 
hard  wood.  The  Indians  were  dancing  the  war-dance  round 
the  war-post.  This  continued  with  some  little  intermission  all 
the  four  days  that  Isaac  lay  in  the  lodge  rapidly  recovering 
his  strength.  The  fifth  day  a  man  came  into  the  lodge.  He 
was  tall  and  powerful,  his  fair  fell  over  his  shoulders  and  he 
wore  the  scanty  buckskin  dress  of  the  Indian.  But  Isaac 
knew  at  once  he  was  a  white  man,  perhaps  one  of  the  many 
French  traders  who  passed  through  the  Indian  village. 

"Your  name  is  Zane,"  said  the  man  in  English,  looking 
sharply  at  Isaac. 

"That  is  my  name.  Who  are  you?"  asked  Isaac  in  great 
surprise. 

"I  am  Girty.  I've  never  seen  you,  but  I  knew  Col.  Zane 
and  Jonathan  well.  I've  seen  your  sister;  you  all  favor  one 
another." 

"Are  you  Simon  Girty?" 


Betty    2ane 

"Yes." 

"I  have  heard  of  your  influence  with  the  Indians.  Can  you 
do  anything  to  get  me  out  of  this?" 

"How  did  you  happen  to  git  over  here?  You  are  not 
many  miles  from  Wingenund's  Camp,"  said  Girty,  giving 
Isaac  another  sharp  look  from  his  small  black  eyes. 

"Girty,  I  assure  you  I  am  not  a  spy.  I  escaped  from  the 
Wyandot  village  on  Mad  River  and  after  traveling  three  days 
lost  my  way.  I  went  to  sleep  in  a  thicket  and  when  I  awoke 
an  Indian  dog  had  found  me.  I  heard  voices  and  saw  three 
Indians.  I  got  up  and  ran,  but  they  easily  caught  me." 

"I  know  about  you.  Old  Tarhe  has  a  daughter  who  kept 
you  from  bein'  ransomed." 

"Yes,  and  I  wish  I  were  back  there.  I  don't  like  the  look 
of  things." 

"You  are  right,  Zane.  You  got  ketched  at  a  bad  time. 
The  Indians  are  mad.  I  suppose  you  don't  know  that  Col. 
Crawford  massacred  a  lot  of  Indians  a  few  days  ago.  It'll 
go  hard  with  any  white  man  that  gits  captured.  I'm  afraid 
I  can't  do  nothin'  for  you." 

A  few  words  concerning  Simon  Girty,  the  White  Savage. 
He  had  two  brothers,  James  and  George,  who  had  been  des 
peradoes  before  they  were  adopted  by  the  Delawares,  and  who 
eventually  became  fierce  and  relentless  savages.  Simon  had 
been  captured  at  the  same  time  as  his  brothers,  but  he  did  not 
at  once  fall  under  the  influence  of  the  unsettled,  free-and-easy 
life  of  the  Indians.  It  is  probable  that  while  in  captivity  he 
acquired  the  power  of  commanding  the  Indians'  interest  and 
learned  the  secret  of  ruling  them — two  capabilities  few  white 
men  ever  possessed.  It  is  certain  that  he,  like  the  noted 
French-Canadian  Joucaire,  delighted  to  sit  round  the  camp 
fires  and  to  go  into  the  council-lodge  and  talk  to  the  assembled 
Indians. 

At  the  outbreak  of  the  revolution  Girty  was  a  commissioned 
officer  of  militia  at  Ft.  Pitt.  He  deserted  from  the  Fort,  tak 
ing  with  him  the  Tories  McKee  and  Elliott,  and  twelve  sol 
diers,  and  these  traitors  spread  as  much  terror  among  the 
Delaware  Indians  as  they  did  among  the  whites.  The  Dela- 


184  Betty    Zane 

wares  had  been  one  of  the  few  peacefully  disposed  tribes.  In 
order  to  get  them  to  join  their  forces  with  Governor  Hamil 
ton,  the  British  commander,  Girty  declared  that  Gen.  Wash 
ington  had  been  killed,  that  Congress  had  been  dispersed,  and 
that  the  British  were  winning  all  the  battles. 

Girty  spoke  most  of  the  Indian  languages,  and  Hamilton 
employed  him  to  go  among  the  different  Indian  tribes  and  in- 
,cite  them  to  greater  hatred  of  the  pioneers.  This  proved  to 
be  just  the  life  that  suited  him.  He  soon  rose  to  have  a  great 
and  bad  influence  on  all  the  tribes.  He  became  noted  for  his 
assisting  the  Indians  in  marauds,  for  his  midnight  forays,  for 
his  scalpings,  and  his  efforts  to  capture  white  women,  and  for 
his  devilish  cunning  and  cruelty. 

For  many  years  Girty  was  the  Deathshead  of  the  frontier. 
The  mention  of  his  name  alone  created  terror  in  any  house 
hold  ;  in  every  pioneer's  cabin  it  made  the  children  cry  out  in 
fear  and  paled  the  cheeks  of  the  stoutest-hearted  wife. 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  a  white  man's  being  such  a  fiend 
in  human  guise.  The  only  explanation  that  can  be  given  is 
that  renegades  rage  against  the  cause  of  their  own  blood  with 
the  fury  of  insanity  rather  than  with  the  malignity  of  a  nat 
urally  ferocious  temper.  In  justice  to  Simon  Girty  it  must 
be  said  that  facts  not  known  until  his  death  showed  he  was 
not  so  cruel  and  base  as  believed ;  that  some  deeds  of  kindness 
were  attributed  to  him ;  that  he  risked  his  life  to  save  Kenton 
from  the  stake,  and  that  many  of  the  terrible  crimes  laid  at 
his  door  were  really  committed  by  his  savage  brothers. 

Isaac  Zane  suffered  no  annoyance  at  the  hands  of  Corn- 
planter's  braves  until  the  seventh  day  of  his  imprisonment. 
He  saw  no  one  except  the  squaw  who  brought  him  corn  and 
meat.  On  that  day  two  savages  came  for  him  and  led  him 
into  the  immense  council-lodge  of  the  Five  Nations.  Corn- 
planter  sat  between  his  right-hand  chiefs,  Big  Tree  and  Half 
Town,  and  surrounded  by  the  other  chiefs  of  the  tribes.  An 
afred  Indian  stood  in  the  center  of  the  lodge  and  addressed 
the  others.  The  listening  savages  sat  immovable,  their  faces 
as  cold  and  stern  as  stone  masks.  Apparently  they  did  not 
heed  the  entrance  of  the  prisoner. 


Betty    Zane 

"Zane,  they're  havin'  a  council,"  whispered  a  voice  iz 
Isaac's  ear.  Isaac  turned  and  recognized  Girty.  "I  want  te 
prepare  you  for  the  worst." 

"Is  there,  then,  no  hope  for  me?"  asked  Isaac. 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  continued  the  renegade,  speaking  in  a 
low  whisper.  "They  wouldn't  let  me  speak  at  the  council.  I 
told  Cornplanter  that  killin'  you  might  bring  the  Hurons 
down  on  him,  but  he  wouldn't  listen.  Yesterday,  in  the  camp 
of  the  Delawares,  I  saw  Col.  Crawford  burnt  at  the  stake.  He 
was  a  friend  of  mine  at  Pitt,  and  I  didn't  dare  to  say  one 
word  to  the  frenzied  Indians.  I  had  to  watch  the  torture. 
Pipe  and  Wingenund,  both  old  friends  of  Crawford,  stood  by 
and  watched  him  walk  round  the  stake  on  the  red-hot  coals 
five  hours." 

Isaac  shuddered  at  the  words  of  the  renegade,  but  did  not 
answer.  He  had  felt  from  the  first  that  his  case  was  hopeless, 
and  that  no  opportunity  for  escape  could  possibly  present 
itself  in  such  a  large  encampment.  He  set  his  teeth  hard  and 
resolved  to  show  the  red  devils  how  a  white  man  could  die. 

Several  speeches  were  made  by  different  chiefs  and  then  an 
impressive  oration  by  Big  Tree.  At  the  conclusion  of  the 
speeches,  which  were  in  an  unknown  tongue  to  Isaac,  Corn- 
planter  handed  a  war-club  to  Half  Town.  This  chief  got  up, 
walked  to  the  end  of  the  circle,  and  there  brought  the  club 
down  on  the  ground  with  a  resounding  thud.  Then  he  passed 
the  club  to  Big  Tree.  In  a  solemn  and  dignified  manner  everjr 
chief  duplicated  Half  Town's  performance  with  the  club. 

Isaac  watched  the  ceremony  as  if  fascinated.  He  had  seen 
a  war-club  used  in  the  councils  of  the  Hurons  and  knew  that 
striking  it  on  the  ground  signified  war  and  death. 

"White  man,  you  are  a  killer  of  Indians,"  said  Cornplanter 
in  good  English.  "When  the  sun  shines  again  you  die." 

A  brave  came  forward  and  painted  Isaac's  face  black.  This 
Isaac  knew  to  indicate  that  death  awaited  him  on  the  morrow. 
On  his  way  back  to  his  prison-lodge  he  saw  that  a  war-dance 
was  in  progress. 

A  hundred  braves  with  tomahawks,  knives,  and  mallets  in 
their  hands  were  circling  round  a  post  and  keeping  time  to  the 


186  Betty    Zane 

low  music  of  a  muffled  drum.  Close  together,  with  heads 
bowed,  they  marched.  At  certain  moments,  which  they  led 
up  to  with  a  dancing  on  rigid  legs  and  a  stamping  with  their 
feet,  they  wheeled,  and  uttering  hideous  yells,  started  to  march 
in  the  ether  direction.  When  this  had  been  repeated  three 
times  a  brave  stepped  from  the  line,  advanced,  and  struck  his 
knife  or  tomahawk  into  the  post.  Then  with  a  loud  voice  he 
proclaimed  his  past  exploits  and  great  deeds  in  war.  The 
Dther  Indians  greeted  this  with  loud  yells  of  applause  and  a 
flourishing  of  weapons.  Then  the  whole  ceremony  was  gone 
through  again. 

That  afternoon  many  of  the  Indians  visited  Isaac  in  his 
lodge  and  shook  their  fists  at  him  and  pointed  their  knives  at 
him.  They  hissed  and  groaned  at  him.  Their  vindictive 
faces  expressed  the  malignant  joy  they  felt  at  the  expectation 
of  putting  him  to  the  torture. 

When  night  came  Isaac's  guards  laced  up  the  lodge-door 
and  shut  him  from  the  sight  of  the  maddened  Indians.  The 
'darkness  that  gradually  enveloped  him  was  a  relief.  By  and 
by  all  was  silent  except  for  the  occasional  yell  of  a  drunken 
savage.  To  Isaac  it  sounded  like  a  long,  rolling  death-cry 
echoing  throughout  the  encampment  and  murdering  his  sleep. 
Its  horrible  meaning  made  him  shiver  and  his  flesh  creep.  At 
length  even  that  yell  ceased.  The  watch-dogs  quieted  down 
and  the  perfect  stillness  which  ensued  could  almost  be  felt. 
Through  Isaac's  mind  ran  over  and  over  again  the  same  words. 
His  last  night  to  live!  His  last  night  to  live!  He  forced 
himself  to  think  of  other  things.  He  lay  there  in  the  darkness 
of  his  tent,  but  he  was  far  away  in  thought,  far  away  in  the 
past  with  his  mother  and  brothers  before  they  had  come  to 
this  bloodthirsty  country.  His  thoughts  wandered  to  the 
days  of  his  boyhood  when  he  used  to  drive  the  cows  to  the 
pasture  on  the  hillside,  and  in  his  dreamy,  disordered  fancy 
he  was  once  more  letting  down  the  bars  of  the  gate.  Then 
he  was  wading  in  the  brook  and  whacking  the  green  frogs  with 
his  stick.  Old  playmates'  faces,  forgotten  for  years,  were 
there  looking  at  him  from  the  dark  wall  of  his  wigwam. 
There  was  Andrew's  face ;  the  faces  of  his  other  brothers ;  the 


Betty    Zane  187 

laughing  face  of  his  sister;  the  serene  face  of  his  mother. 
As  he  lay  there  with  the  shadow  of  death  over  him  sweet  was 
the  thought  that  soon  he  would  be  reunited  with  that  mother. 
The  images  faded  slowly  away,  swallowed  up  in  the  gloom. 
Suddenly  a  vision  appeared  to  him.  A  radiant  white  light 
illumined  the  lodge  -and  shone  full  on  the  beautiful  face  of  the 
Indian  maiden  who  had  loved  him  so  well.  Myeerah's  dark 
eyes  were  bright  with  an  undying  love  and  her  lips  smiled 
hope. 

A  rude  kick  dispelled  Isaac's  dreams.  A  brawny  savage 
pulled  him  to  his  feet  and  pushed  him  outside  of  the  lodge. 

It  was  early  morning.  The  sun  had  just  cleared  the  low 
hills  in  the  east  and  its  red  beams  crimsoned  the  edges  of  the 
clouds  of  fog  which  hung  over  the  river  like  a  great  white 
curtain.  Though  the  air  was  warni,  Isaac  shivered  a  little  as 
the  breeze  blew  softly  against  his  cheek.  He  took  one  long 
look  toward  the  rising  sun,  toward  that  east  he  had  hoped  to 
see,  and  then  resolutely  turned  his  face  away  forever. 

Early  though  it  was  the  Indians  were  astir  and  their  whoop 
ing  rang  throughout  the  valley.  Down  tha  main  street  of  the 
village  the  guards  led  the  prisoner,  followed  by  a  screaming 
mob  of  squaws  and  young  braves  and  children  who  threw 
sticks  and  stones  at  the  hated  Long  Knife. 

Soon  the  inhabitants  of  the  camp  congregated  on  the  green 
oval  in  the  midst  of  the  lodges.  When  the  prisoner  appeared 
they  formed  in  two  long  lines  facing  each  other,  and  several 
feet  apart.  Isaac  was  to  run  the  gauntlet — one  of  the  se* 
verest  of  Indian  tortures.  With  tht  exception  of  Corrplantef 
and  several  of  h  s  chiefs,  every  Indian  in  the  village  was  in 
line.  Little  Indian  N>ys  hardly  large  enough  to  sling  a  stone ; 
maidens  and  squaws  with  switches  or  spears;  athletic  young 
braves  with  flashing  tomahawks;  grim,  matured  warriors 
swinging  knotted  war  clubs, — all  were  there  in  line,  yelling 
and  brandishing  their  weapons  in  a  manner  frightful  to 
behold. 

The  word  was  given,  and  stripped  to  the  waist,  Isaac 
bounded  forward  fleet  as  a  deer.  He  knew  the  Indian  way  of 
running  the  gauntlet.  The  head  of  that  long  lane  contained 


188  Betty    Zan< 

the  warriors  and  older  braves  and  it  was  here  that  the  great 
danger  lay.  Between  these  lines  he  sped  like  a  flash,  dodging 
this  way  and  that,  running  close  in  under  the  raised  weaponsj 
taking  what  blows  he  could  on  his  uplifted  arms,  knocking 
this  warrior  over  and  doubling  that  one  up  with  a  lightning 
blow  in  the  stomach,  never  slacking  his  speed  for  one  stride, 
so  that  it  was  extremely  difficult  for  the  Indians  to  strike  him 
effectually.  Once  past  that  formidable  array,  Isaac's  gaunt 
let  was  run,  for  the  squaws  and  children  scattered  screaming 
before  the  sweep  of  his  powerful  arms. 

The  old  chiefs  grunted  their  approval.  There  was  a  bruise 
on  Isaac's  forehead  and  a  few  drops  of  blood  mingled  with 
the  beads  of  perspiration.  Several  lumps  and  scratches 
showed  on  his  bare1  shoulders  and  arms,  but  he  had  escaped  any 
serious  injury.  This  was  a  feat  almost  without  a  parallel  in 
gauntlet  running. 

When  he  had  been  tied  with  wet  buckskin  thongs  to  the 
post  in  the  center  of  the  oval,  the  youths,  the  younger  braves, 
and  the  squaws  began  circling  round  him,  yelling  like  so  many 
demons.  The  old  squaws  thrust  sharpened  sticks,  which  had 
been  soaked  in  salt  water,  into  his  flesh.  The  maidens  struck 
him  with  willows  which  left  red  welts  on  his  white  shoulders. 
The  braves  buried  the  blades  of  their  tomahawks  in  the  post 
as  near  as  possible  to  his  head  without  actually  hitting  him. 

Isaac  knew  the  Indian  nature  well.  To  command  the  re- 
npect  of  the  savages  was  the  only  way  to  lessen  his  torture. 
Me  knew  that  a  cry  for  mercy  would  only  increase  his  suffer 
ings  and  not  hasten  his  death, — indeed  it  would  prolong  both. 
He  had  resolved  to  die  without  a  moan.  He  had  determined 
ti  show  absolute  indifference  to  his  torture,  which  was  the 
«nly  way  to  appeal  to  the  savage  nature,  and  if  anything 
could,  make  the  Indians  show  mercy.  Or,  if  he  could  taunt 
them  into  killing  him  at  once  he  would  be  spared  all  the  ter 
rible  agony  which  they  were  in  the  habit  of  inflicting  on  their 
victims. 

One  handsome  young  brave  twirled  a  glittering  tomahawk 
which  he  threw  from  a  distance  of  ten,  fifteen,  and  twenty 
feet  and  every  time  the  sharp  blade  of  the  hatchet  sank  deep 


Betty    Zane  189 

into  the  stake  within  an  inch  of  Isaac's  head.  With  a  proud 
and  disdainful  look  Isaac  gazed  straight  before  him  and  paid 
no  heed  to  his  tormentor. . 

"Does  the  Indian  boy  think  he  can  frighten  a  white  war 
rior?"  said  Isaac  scornfully  at  length.  "Let  him  go  and  earn 
his  eagle  plumes.  The  pale  face  laughs  at  him." 

The  young  brave  understood  the  Huron  language,  for  he 
gave  a  frightful  yell  and  cast  his  tomahawk  again,  this  time 
shaving  a  lock  of  hair  from  Isaac's  head. 

This  was  what  Isaac  had  prayed  for.  He  hoped  that  one 
of  these  glittering  hatchets  would  be  propelled  less  skilfully 
than  its  predecessors  and  would  kill  him  instantly.  But  the 
enraged  brave  had  no  other  opportunity  to  cast  his  weapon, 
for  the  Indians  jeered  at  him  and  pushed  him  from  the  line. 

Other  braves  tried  their  proficiency  in  the  art  of  throwing 
knives  and  tomahawks,  but  their  efforts  called  forth  only 
words  of  derision  from  Isaac.  They  left  the  weapons  sticking 
in  the  post  until  round  Isaac's  head  and  shoulders  there  was 
scarcely  room  for  another. 

"The  White  Eagle  is  tired  of  boys,"  cried  Isaac  to  a  chief 
standing  near.  "What  has  he  done  that  he  be  made  the  play 
thing  of  children  ?  Let  him  die  the  death  of  a  chief." 

The  maidens  had  long  since  desisted  in  their  efforts  to  tor 
ment  the  prisoner.  Even  the  hardened  old  squaws  had  with 
drawn.  The  prisoner's  proud,  handsome  face,  his  upright 
bearing,  his  scorn  for  his  enemies,  his  indifference  to  the  cuts 
and  bruises,  and  red  welts  upon  his  clear  white  skin  had  wo» 
their  hearts. 

Not  so  with  the  braves.  Seeing  that  the  pale  face  scorned 
nil  efforts  to  make  him  flinch,  the  young  brave  turned  to  Big 
Tree.  At  a  command  from  this  chief  the  Indians  stopped 
their  maneuvering  round  the  post  and  formed  a  large  circle. 
In  another  moment  a  tall  warrior  appeared  carrying  an  arm- 
5ul  of  fagots. 

In  spite  of  his  iron  nerve  Isaac  shuddered  with  horror.  He 
had  anticipated  running  the  gauntlet,  having  his  nails  pulled 
out,  powder  and  salt  shot  into  his  flesh,  being  scalped  alive, 
and  a  host  of  other  Indian  tortures,  but  as  he  had  killed  n<r 


190  Betty    Zanc 

members  of  this  tribe  he  had  not  thought  of  being  burned 
ftlive.     God,  it  was  too  horrible! 

The  Indians  were  now  quiet.  Their  songs  and  dances 
wauld  break  out  soon  enough.  They  piled  fagot  after  fagot 
round  Isaac's  feet.  The  Indian  warrior  knelt  on  the  ground ; 
the  steel  clicked  on  the  flint ;  a  little  shower  of  sparks  dropped 
on  the  pieces  of  punk  and  then — a  tiny  flame  shot  up,  and  a 
clender  litik  column  of  blue  smoke  floated  on  the  air. 

Isaac  elm!  his  teeth  hard  and  prayed  with  all  his  soul  for  a 
speedy  cteaffi* 

Simon  Girty  came  hurriedly  through  the  lines  of  waiting, 
watching  Indians.  He  had  obtained  permission  to  speak  to 
the  man  of  his  own  color. 

"Zar/e,  you  made  a  brave  stand.  Any  other  time  but  this 
it  might  have  saved  you.  If  you  want  I'll  get  word  to  your 
people."  And  then  bending  and  placing  his  mouth  close  to 
Isaac's  ear,  he  whispered,  "I  did  all  I  could  for  you,  but  K 
must  have  been  too  late." 

"Try  and  tell  them  at  Ft.  Henry,"  Isaac  said  simply. 

There  was  a  little  cracking  of  dried  wood  and  then  a  nar 
row  tongue  of  red  flame  darted  up  from  the  pile  of  fagots  and 
licked  at  the  buckskin  fringe  on  the  prisoner's  leggins.  At 
this  supreme  moment  when  the  attention  of  all  centered  on 
that  motionless  figure  lashed  to  the  stake,  and  when  only  the 
low  chanting  of  the  death-song  broke  the  stillness,  a  longj 
piercing  yell  rang  out  on  the  quiet  morning  air.  So  strong^ 
so  sudden,  so  startling  was  the  break  in  that  almost  perfect 
calm  that  for  a  moment  afterward  there  was  a  silence  as  of 
death.  All  eyes  turned  to  the  ridge  of  rising  ground  whence 
that  sound  had  come.  Now  came  the  unmistakable  thunder  of 
horses5  hoofs  pounding  furiously  on  the  rocky  ground.  A 
moment  of  paralyzed  inaction  ensued.  The  Indians  stood 
bewildered,  petrified.  Then  on  that  ridge  of  rising  ground 
stood,  silhouetted  against  the  blue  sky,  a  great  black  horse 
with  arching  neck  and  flying  mane.  Astride  him  sat  a 
plumed  warrior,  who  waved  his  rifle  high  in  the  air.  Again 
that  shrill  screeching  yell  came  floating  to  the  ears  of  the 
astonished  Indians. 


Betty    Zane  191 

The  prisoner  had  seen  that  horse  and  rider  before;  he  had 
heard  that  long  yell;  his  heart  bounded  with  hope.  The 
Indians  knew  that  yell;  it  was  the  terrible  war-cry  of  the 
Hurons. 

A  horse  followed  closely  after  the  leader,  and  then  another 
appeared  on  the  crest  of  the  hill.  Then  came  two  abreast, 
and  then  four  abreast,  and  now  the  hill  was  black  with  plung 
ing  horses.  They  galloped  swiftly  down  the  slope  and  into 
the  narrow  street  of  the  village.  When  the  black  horse  en 
tered  the  oval  the  train  of  racing  horses  extended  to  the  top 
of  the  ridge.  The  plumes  of  the  riders  streamed  gracefully 
on  the  breeze ;  their  feathers  shone ;  their  weapons  glittered  in 
the  bright  sunlight. 

Never  was  there  more  complete  surprise.  In  the  early 
morning  the  Hurons  had  crept  up  to  within  a  rifle  shot  of  the 
encampment,  and  at  an  opportune  moment  when  all  the  scouts 
and  runners  were  round  the  torture-stake,  they  had  reached 
the  hillside  from  which  they  rode  into  the  village  before  the 
inhabitants  knew  what  had  happened.  Not  an  Indian  raised 
a  weapon.  There  were  screams  from  the  women  and  children, 
a  shouted  command  from  Big  Tree,  and  then  all  stood  still 
and  waited. 

Thundercloud,  the  war  chief  of  the  Wyandots,  pulled  his 
black  stallion  back  on  his  haunches  not  twenty  feet  from  the 
prisoner  at  the  stake.  His  band  of  painted  devils  closed  in 
behind  him.  Full  two  hundred  strong  were  they  and  all 
picked  warriors  tried  and  true.  They  were  naked  to  the 
waist.  Across  their  brawny  chests  ran  a  broad  bar  of  flaming 
red  paint;  hideous  designs  in  black  and  white  covered  their 
faces.  Every  head  had  been  clean-shaven  except  where  the 
ecalp  lock  bristled  like  a  porcupine's  quills.  Each  warrior 
carried  a  plumed  spear,  a  tomahawk,  and  a  rifle.  The  shin 
ing  heads,  with  the  little  tufts  of  hair  tied  tightly  close  to  the 
scalp,  were  enough  to  show  that  these  Indians  were  on  the 
war-path. 

From  the  back  of  one  of  the  foremost  horses  a  slender  figure 
dropped  and  darted  toward  the  prisoner  at  the  stake.  Surely 
that  wildly  flying  hair  proved  this  was  not  a  warrior.  Swift 


Betty    Zane 

as  a  flash  of  light  this  figure  reached  the  stake;  the  blazing 
fagots  scattered  right  and  left;  a  naked  blade  gleamed;  the 
thongs  fell  from  the  prisoner's  wrists ;  and  the  front  ranks  of 
the  Hurons  opened  and  closed  on  the  freed  man.  The  deliv 
erer  turned  to  the  gaping  Indians,  disclosing  to  their  gaze  the 
pale  and  beautiful  face  of  Myeerah,  the  Wyandot  Princess. 

"Summon  your  chief,"  she  commanded. 

The  tall  form  of  the  Seneca  chief  moved  from  among  the 
warriors  and  with  slow  and  measured  tread  approached  the 
maiden.  His  bearing  fitted  the  leader  of  five  nations  of  In 
dians.  It  was  of  one  who  knew  that  he  was  the  wisest  of 
chiefs,  the  hero  of  a  hundred  battles.  Who  dared  beard  him 
in  his  den?  Who  dared  defy  the  greatest  power  in  all  Indian 
tribes?  When  he  stood  before  the  maiden  he  folded  his  arms 
and  waited  for  her  to  speak. 

"Myeerah  claims  the  White  Eagle,"  sjie  said. 

Cornplanter  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  had  never  seen 
Myeerah,  though  he  had  heard  many  stories  of  her  loveliness. 
Now  he  was  face  to  face  with  the  Indian  Princess  whose  fame 
had  been  the  theme  of  many  an  Indian  romance,  and  whose 
beauty  had  been  sung  of  in  many  an  Indian  son^.  The  beau 
tiful  girl  stood  erect  and  fearless.  Her  disordered  garments, 
torn  and  bedraggled  and  stained  from  the  long  ride,  ill-con 
cealed  the  grace  of  her  form.  Her  hair  rippled  from  the  un- 
covered  head  and  fell  in  dusky  splendor  over  her  shoul 
ders;  her  dark  eyes  shone  with  a  stern  and  steady  fire;  her 
bosom  swelled  with  each  deep  breath.  She  was  the  daughter 
of  great  chiefs;  she  looked  the  embodiment  of  savage  love. 

"The  Huron  squaw  is  brave,"  said  Cornplanter.  "By  what 
right  does  she  come  to  free  my  captive?" 

"He  is^an  adopted  Wyandot." 

"Why  does  the  paleface  hide  like  a  fox  near  the  camp  of 
Cornplanter  ?" 

"He  ran  away.     He  lost  the  trail  to  the  Fort  on  the  river." 

"Cornplanter  takes  prisoners  to  kill;  not  to  free." 

"If  you  will  not  give  him  up  Myeerah  will  take  him,"  she 
answered,  pointing  to  the  long  line  of  mounted  warriors. 
"And  should  harm  befall  Tarhe's  daughter  it  will  be  avenged." 


ISAAC     GAZED     STRAIGHT    BEFORE     HIM    AND    PAID    NO    HEED    TO 

HIS    TORMENTOR.  Page  189. 


Betty    Zane  193 

Cornplanter  looked  at  Thundercloud.  Well  he  knew  that 
chief's  prowess  in  the  field.  He  ran  his  eyes  over  the  silent, 
watching  Hurons,  and  then  back  to  the  sombre  face  of  their 
leader.  Thundercloud  sat  rigid  upon  his  stallion;  his  head 
held  high;  every  muscle  tense  and  strong  for  instant  action. 
He  was  ready  and  eager  for  the  fray.  He,  and  every  one  of 
his  warriors,  would  fight  like  a  thousand  tigers  for  their  Prin 
cess  —  the  pride  of  the  proud  race  of  Wyandots.  Cornplanter 
saw  this  and  he  felt  that  on  the  eve  of  important  marches  he 
dared  not  sacrifice  one  of  his  braves  for  any  reason,  much  less 
a  worthless  pale  face;  and  yet  to  let  the  prisoner  go  galled 
the  haughty  spirit  of  the  Seneca  chief. 

"The  Long  Knife  is  not  worth  the  life  of  one  of  my  dogs," 
he  said,  with  scorn  in  his  deep  voice.  "If  Cornplanter  willed 
he  could  drive  the  Hurons  before  him  like  leaves  before  the 
storm.  Let  Myeerah  take  the  pale  face  back  to  her  wigwam 
and  there  feed  him  and  make  a  squaw  of  him.  When  he 
stings  like  a  snake  in  the  grass  remember  the  chief's  words. 
Cornplanter  turns  on  his  heel  from  the  Huron  maiden  who 
forgets  her  blood. 


" 


When  the  sun  reached  its  zenith  it  shone  down  upon  a  long 
line  of  mounted  Indians  riding  single  file  along  the  narrow 
trail  and  like  a  huge  serpent  winding  through  the  forest  and 
over  the  plain. 

They  were  Wyandot  Indians,  and  Isaac  Zane  rode  among 
them.  Freed  from  the  terrible  fate  which  had  menaced  him, 
and  knowing  that  he  was  once  more  on  his  way  to  the  Huron 
encampment,  he  had  accepted  his  destiny  and  quarreled  no 
more  ^ith  fate.  He  was  thankful  beyond  all  words  for  his 
rescue  from  the  stake.  % 

Coming  to  a  clear,  rapid  stream,  the  warriors  dismounted 
and  rested  while  their  horses  drank  thirstily  of  the  cool  water. 
An  Indian  touched  Isaac  on  the  arm  and  silently  pointed 
toward  the  huge  maple  tree  under  which  Thundercloud  and 
Myeerah  were  sitting.  Isaac  turned  his  horse  and  rode  the 
short  distance  intervening.  When  he  got  near  he  saw  that 
Myeerah  stood  with  one  arm  over  her  pony's  neck.  She  raised 


194  Betty    Zane 

eyes  that  were  weary  and  sad,  which  yet  held  a  lofty  and 
noble  resolve. 

"White  Eagle,  this  stream  leads  straight  to  the  Fort  on  the 
river,"  she  said  briefly,  almost  coldly.  "Follow  it,  and  when 
the  sun  reaches  the  top  of  yonder  hill  you  will  be  with  your 
people.  Go,  you  are  free." 

She  turned  her  face  away.  Isaac's  head  whirled  in  his 
•  amazement.  He  could  not  believe  his  ears.  He  looked  closely 
'at  her  and  saw  that  though  her  face  was  calm  her  throat 
swelled,  and  the  hand  which  lay  over  the  neck  of  her  pony 
clenched  the  bridle  in  a  fierce  grasp.  Isaac  glanced  at  Thun 
dercloud  and  the  other  Indians  near  by.«  They  sat  uncon 
cerned  with  the  invariable  unreadable  expression. 

"Myeerah,  what  do  you  mean?"  asked  Isaac. 

"The  words  of  Cornplanter  cut  deep  into  the  heart  of 
Myeerah,"  she  answered  bitterly.  "They  were  true.  The 
Eagle  does  not  care  for  Myeerah.  She  shall  no  longer  keep 
him  in  a  cage.  He  is  free  to  fly  away." 

"The  Eagle  does  not  want  his  freedom.  I  love  you, 
Myeerah.  You  have  saved  me  and  I  am  yours.  If  you  will 
go  home  with  me  and  marry  me  there  as  my  people  are  mar 
ried  I  will  go  back  to  the  Wyandot  village." 

Myeerah's  eyes  softened  with  unutterable  love.  With  a 
quick  cry  she  was  in  his  arms.  After  a  few  moments  of  for- 
getfulness  Myeerah  spoke  to  Thundercloud  and  waved  her 
hand  toward  the  west.  The  chief  swung  himself  over  his 
horse,  shouted  a  single  command,  and  rode  down  the  bank  into 
the  water.  His  warriors  followed  him,  wading  their  horses 
into  the  shallow  creek,  with  never  a  backward  look.  When 
the  last  rider  had  disappeared  in  the  willows  the  lovers  turned 
their  horses  eastward. 


CHAPTER   X. 

T  was  near  the  close  of  a  day  in  early 
summer.  A  small  group  of  persons 
surrounded  Col.  Zane  where  he  sat  on 
his  doorstep.  From  time  to  time  he 
took  the  long  Indian  pipe  from  his 
mouth  and  blew  great  clouds  of  smoke 
over  his  head.  Major  McColloch  and 
Capt.  Boggs  were  there.  Silas  Zane 
half  reclined  on  the  grass.  The  Col 
onel's  wife  stood  in  the  door-way,  and 
Betty  sat  on  the  lower  step  with  her 

head  leaning  against  her  brother's  knee.  They  all  had  grave 
faces.  Jonathan  Zane  had  returned  that  day  after  an  ab 
sence  of  three  weeks,  and  was  now  answering  the  many  ques 
tions  with  which  he  was  plied. 

"Don't  ask  me  any  more  and  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  thing,** 
he  had  just  said,  while  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 
His  face  was  worn;  his  beard  ragged  and  unkempt;  his  ap 
pearance  suggestive  of  extreme  fatigue.  "It  was  this  way: 
Colonel  Crawford  had  four  hundred  and  eighty  men  under 
him,  with  Stover  and  me  acting  as  guides.  This  was  a  large 
force  of  men  and  comprised  soldiers  from  Pitt  and  the  other 
forts  and  settlers  from  all  along  the  river.  You  see,  Craw 
ford  wanted  to  crush  the  Shawnees  at  one  blow.  When  we 
reached  the  Sandusky  River,  which  we  did  after  an  arduous 
march,  not  one  Indian  did  we  see.  You  know  Crawford  ex 
pected  to  surprise  the  Shawnee  camp,  and  when  he  found  it 
deserted  he  didn't  know  what  to  do.  Slover  and  I  both  ad 
vised  an  immediate  retreat.  Crawford  would  not  listen  to  us. 
I  tried  to  explain  to  him  that  ever  since  the  Guadenhutten 
massacre  keen-eyed  Indian  scouts  had  been  watching  the  bor 
der.  The  news  of  the  present  expedition  had  been  carried  by 
fleet  runners  to  the  different  Indian  tribes  and  they  were  work 
ing  like  hives  of  angry  bees.  The  deserted  Shawnee  village 
meant  to  me  that  the  alarm  had  been  sounded  "/»  the  towns 

191 


196  Betty    Zane 

of  the  Shawnees  and  the  Delawares ;  perhaps  also  in  the  Wy- 
andot  towns  to  the  north.  Colonel  Crawford  was  obdurate 
and  insisted  on  resuming  the  march  into  the  Indian  country. 
The  next  day  we  met  the  Indians  coming  directly  toward  us. 
It  was  the  combined  force  of  the  Delaware  chiefs,  Pipe  and 
Wingenund.  The  battle  had  hardly  commenced  when  the 
redskins  were  reinforced  by  four  hundred  warriors  under 
Shanshota,  the  Hiiron  chief.  The  enemy  skulked  behind  trees 
and  rocks,  hid  in  ravines,  and  crawled  through  the  long  grass. 
They  could  be  picked  off  only  by  Indian  hunters,  of  whom 
Crawford  had  but  few — probably  fifty  all  told.  All  that  day 
we  managed  to  keep  our  position,  though  we  lost  sixty  men. 
That  night  we  lay  down  to  rest  by  great  fires  which  we  built, 
to  prevent  night  surprises. 

"Early  next  morning  we  resumed  the  fight.  I  saw  Simon 
Girty  on  his  white  horse.  He  was  urging  and  cheering  the 
Indians  on  to  desperate  fighting.  Their  fire  became  so  deadly 
that  we  were  forced  to  retreat.  In  the  afternoon  Slover,  who 
had  been  out  scouting,  returned  with  the  information  that  a 
mounted  force  was  approaching,  and  that  he  believed  they 
were  the  reinforcements  which  Col.  Crawford  expected.  The 
reinforcements  came  up  and  proved  to  be  Butler's  British 
Rangers  from  Detroit.  This  stunned  Crawford's  soldiers. 
The  fire  of  the  enemy  became  hotter  and  hotter.  Our  men 
were  falling  like  leaves  around  us.  They  threw  aside  their 
rifles  and  ran,  many  of  them  right  into  the  hands  of  the  sav 
ages.  I  believe  some  of  the  experienced  bordermen  escaped, 
but  most  of  Crawford's  force  met  death  on  the  field.  I  hid 
in  a  hollow  log.  Next  day  when  I  felt  that  it  could  be  done 
safely  I  crawled  out.  I  saw  scalped  and  mutilated  bodies 
everywhere,  but  did  not  find  Col.  Crawford's  body.  The  In 
dians  had  taken  all  the  clothing,  weapons,  blankets,  and  every 
thing  of  value.  The  Wyandots  took  a  northwest  trail  and 
the  Delawares  and  the  Shawnees  traveled  east.  I  followed  the 
latter  because  their  trail  led  toward  home.  Three  days  later  I 
stood  on  the  high  bluff  above  Wingenund's  camp.  From 
there  I  saw  Col.  Crawford  tied  to  a  stake  and  a  fire  started 
at  his  feet.  I  was  not  five  hundred  yards  from  the  camp.  I 


Betty    Zane  197 

saw  the  war  chiefs,  Pipe  and  Wingeimnd ;  I  saw  Simon  Girty 
and  a  British  officer  in  uniform.  The  chiefs  and  Girty  were 
once  Crawford's  friends.  They  stood  calmly  by  and  watched 
the  poor  victim  slowly  burn  to  death.  The  Indians  yelled  and 
danced  round  the  stake ;  they  devised  every  kind  of  hellish  tor 
ture.  When  at  last  an  Indian  ran  in  and  tore  off  the  scalp 
of  the  still  living  man  I  could  bear  to  see  no  more,  and  I  turned 
and  ran.  I  have  been  in  some  tough  places,  but  this  last  was 
the  worst." 

"My  God!  it  is  awful — and  to  think  that  man  Girty  was 
once  a  white  man,"  cried  Col.  Zane. 

"He  came  very  near  being  a  dead  man,"  said  Jonathan, 
with  grim  humor.  "I  got  a  long  shot  at  him  and  killed  his 
big  white  horse." 

"It's  a  pity  you  missed  him,"  said  Silas  Zane. 

"Here  comes  Wetzel.  What  will  he  say  about  the  mas 
sacre?"  remarked  Major  McColloch. 

Wetzel  joined  the  group  at  that  moment  and  shook  hands 
with  Jonathan.  When  interrogated  about  the  failure  of  Col. 
Crawford's  expedition  Wetzel  said  that  Slover  had  just  made 
his  appearance  at  the  cabin  of  Hugh  Bennet,  and  that  he 
was  without  clothing  and  almost  dead  from  exposure. 

"I'm  glad  Slover  got  out  alive.  He  was  against  the  march 
all  along.  If  Crawford  had  listened  to  us  he  would  have 
averted  this  terrible  affair  and  saved  his  own  life.  Lew,  did 
Slover  know  how  many  men  got  out?"  asked  Jonathan. 

"He  said  not  many.  The  redskins  killed  all  the  prisoners 
exceptin'  Crawford  and  Knight." 

"I  saw  Col.  Crawford  burned  at  the  stake.  I  did  not  see 
Dr.  Knight.  Maybe  they  murdered  him  before  I  reached  the 
camp  of  the  Delawares,"  said  Jonathan. 

"Wetzel,  in  your  judgment,  what  effect  will  this  massacre 
and  Crawford's  death  have  on  the  border?"  inquired  Col. 
Zane. 

"It  means  another  bloody  year  like  1777."  answered  Wetzel. 

"We  are  liable  to  have  trouble  with  the  Indians  any  day. 
You  mean  that," 

There'll  be  war  all  along  the  river.     Hamilton  is  hatchin* 


198  Betty     Zane 

some  new  devil's  trick  with  Girty.  Col.  Zane,  I  calkilate  that 
Girty  has  a  spy  in  the  river  settlements  and  knows  as  much 
about  the  forts  and  defense  as  you  do." 

"You  can't  mean  a  white  spy." 

"Yes,  just  that." 

"That  is  a  strong  assertion,  Lewis,  but  coming  from  you 
it  means  something.  Step  aside  here  and  explain  yourself," 
said  Col.  Zane,  getting  up  and  walking  out  to  the  fence. 

"I  don't  like  the  looks  of  things,"  said  the  hunter.  "A 
month  ago  I  ketched  this  man  Miller  pokin'  his  nose  round  the 
block-house  where  he  hadn't  ought  to  be.  And  I  kep'  watchin' 
him.  If  my  suspicions  is  correct  he's  play  in'  some  deep  game. 
I  ain't  got  any  proof,  but  things  looks  bad." 

"That's  strange,  Lewis,"  said  Col.  Zane  soberly.  "Now 
that  you  mention  it  I  remember  Jonathan  said  he  met  Miller 
near  the  Kanawha  three  weeks  ago.  That  was  when  Craw 
ford's  expedition  was  on  the  way  to  the  Shawnee  villages. 
The  Colonel  tried  to  enlist  Miller,  but  Miller  said  he  was  in  a 
hurry  to  get  back  to  the  Fort.  And  he  hasn't  come  back 

yet." 

"I  ain't  surprised.  Now,  Col.  Zane,  you  are  in  command 
here.  I'm  not  a  soldier  and  for  that  reason  I'm  all  the  better 
to  watch  Miller.  He  won't  suspect  me.  You  give  me  au 
thority  and  I'll  round  up  his  little  game." 

"By  all  means,  Lewis.  Go  about  it  your  own  way,  and 
report  anything  to  me.  Remember  you  may  be  mistaken  and 
give  Miller  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  I  don't  like  the  fellow. 
He  has  a  way  of  appearing  and  disappearing,  and  for  no  ap 
parent  reason,  that  makes  me  distrust  him.  But  for  Heaven's 
sake,  Lew,  how  would  he  profit  by  betraying  us?" 

"I  don't  know.    All  I  know  is  he'll  bear  watchin'." 

"My  gracious,  Lew  Wetzel!"  exclaimed  Betty  as  her 
brother  and  the  hunter  rejoined  the  others.  "Have  you  come 
all  the  way  over  here  without  a  gun?  And  you  have  on  a  new 
suit  of  buckskin." 

Lewis  stood  a  moment  by  Betty,  gazing  down  at  her  with 
his  slight  smile.  He  looked  exceedingly  well.  His  face  was. 
not  yet  bronzed  by  summer  suns.  His  long  black  hair,  of 


Betty    Zane  199 

which  he  was  as  proud  as  a  woman  could  have  been,  and  of 
which  he  took  as  much  care  as  he  did  of  his  rifle,  waved  over 
his  shoulders. 

"Betty,  this  is  my  birthday,  but  that  ain't  the  reason  I've 
got  my  fine  feathers  on.  I'm  goin'  to  try  and  make  an  im 
pression  on  you,"  replied  Lewis,  smiling. 

"I  declare,  this  is  very  sudden.  But  you  have  succeeded. 
Who  made  the  suit?  And  where  did  you  get  all  that  pretty 
fringe  and  those  beautiful  beads?" 

"That  stuff  I  picked  up  round  an  Injun  camp.  The  suit 
I  made  myself." 

"I  think,  Lewis,  I  must  get  you  to  help  me  make  my  new 
gown,"  said  Betty,  roguishly. 

"Well,  I  must  be  gettin'  back,"  said  Wetzel,  rising. 

"Oh,  don't  go  yet.  You  have  not  talked  to  me  at  all,"  said 
Betty  petulantly.  She  walked  to  the  gate  with  him. 

"What  can  an  Injun  hunter  say  to  amuse  the  belle  of  the 
border?" 

"I  don't  want  to  be  amused  exactly.  I  mean  I'm  not  used 
to  being  unnoticed,  especially  by  you."  And  then  in  a  lower 
tone  she  continued:  "What  did  you  mean  about  Mr.  Miller? 
I  heard  his  name  and  Eb  looked  worried.  What  did  you  tell 
him?" 

"Never  mind  now,  Betty.  Maybe  I'll  tell  you  some  day. 
It's  enough  for  you  to  know  the  Colonel  don't  like  Miller  and 
that  I  think  he  is  a  bad  man.  You  don't  care  nothin'  for 
Miller,  do  you  Betty?" 

"Not  in~the  least." 

"Don't  see  him  any  more,  Betty.  Good-night,  now,  I  must 
be  goin'  to  supper." 

"Lew,  stop !  or  I  shall  run  after  you." 

"And  what  good  would  your  runnin'  do?"  said  Lewis. 
"You'd  never  ketch  me.  Why,  I  could  give  you  twenty  paces 
start  and  beat  you  to  yon  tree." 

"You  can't.  Come,  try  it,"  retorted  Betty,  catching  hold 
of  her  skirt.  She  could  never  have  allowed  a  challenge  like 
that  to  pass. 

"Ha !  ha !     We  are  in  for  a  race.     Betty,  if  you  beat  him, 


200  Betty    Zane 

start  or  no  start,  you  will  have  accomplished  something  never 
done  before,"  said  CoL  Zane. 

"Come,  Silas,  step  off  twenty  paces  and  make  them  long 
ones,"  said  Betty,  who  was  in  earnest. 

"We'll  make  it  forty  paces,"  said  Silas,  as  he  commenced 
taking  immense  strides. 

"What  is  Lewis  looking  at?"  remarked  Col.  Zane's  wife. 

Wetzel,  in  taking  his  position  for  the  race,  had  faced  the 
i'iver.  Mrs.  Zane  had  seen  him  start  suddenly,  straighten  up 
and  for  a  moment  stand  like  a  statue.  Her  exclamation  drew 
the  attentior  of  the  others  to  the  hunter. 

"Look !"  he  cried,  waving  his  hand  toward  the  river. 

"I  declare,  Wetzel,  you  are  always  seeing  something. 
Where  shall  I  look?  Ah,  yes,  there  is  a  dark  form  moving 
along  the  bank.  By  jove!  I  believe  it's  an  Indian,"  said 
Col.  Zane. 

Jonathan  darted  into  the  house.  WTien  he  reappeared  a 
second  later  he  had  three  rifles. 

"I  see  horses,  Lew.  What  do  you  make  out?"  said  Jona 
than.  "It's  a  bold  manoeuvre  for  Indians  unless  they  have  a 
strong  force." 

"Hostile  Injuns  wouldn't  show  themselves  like  that.  Maybe 
they  ain't  redskins  at  all.  We'll  go  down  to  the  bluff." 

"Oh,  yes,  let  us  go,"  cried  Betty,  walking  down  the  path 
toward  Wetzel. 

Col.  Zane  followed  her,  and  presently  the  whole  party  were 
on  their  way  to  the  river.  When  they  reached  the  bluff  they 
saw  two  horses  come  down  the  opposite  bank  and  enter  the 
water.  Then  they  seemed  to  fade  from  view.  The  tall  trees 
cast  a  dark  shadow  over  the  water  and  the  horses  had  become 
lost  in  this  obscurity.  Col.  Zane  and  Jonathan  walked  up 
and  down  the  bank  seeking  to  find  a  place  which  afforded  a 
clearer  view  of  the  river. 

"There  they  come,"  shouted  Silas. 

"Yes,  I  see  them  just  swimming  out  of  the  shadow,"  said 
Col.  Zane.  "Both  horses  have  riders.  Lewis,  what  can  you 
make  out  ?" 

"It's  Isaac  and  an  Indian  girl,"  answered  Wetzel. 


Betty    Zane  201 

This  startling  announcement  created  a  commotion  in  the 
little  group.  It  was  followed  by  a  chorus  of  exclamations. 

"Heavens!  Wetzel,  you  have  wonderful  eyes.  I  hope  to 
God  you  are  right.  There,  I  see  the  foremost  rider  waving 
his  hand,"  cried  Col.  Zane. 

"Oh,  Bessie,  Bessie!  I  believe  Lew  is  right.  Look  at 
Tige,"  said  Betty  excitedly. 

Everybody  had  forgotten  the  dog.  He  had  come  down  the 
path  with  Betty  and  had  pressed  close  to  her.  First  he 
trembled,  then  whined,  then  with  a  loud  bark  he  ran  down 
the  bank  and  dashed  into  the  water. 

"Hel-lo,  Betts,"  came  the  cry  across  the  water.  There  was 
no  mistaking  that  clear  voice.  It  was  Isaac's. 

Although  the  sun  had  long  gone  down  behind  the  hills  day~ 
light  lingered.  It  was  bright  enough  for  the  watchers  to  rec* 
ognize  Isaac  Zane.  He  sat  high  on  his  horse  and  in  his  hand 
he  held  the  bridle  of  a  pony  that  was  swimming  beside  him, 
The  pony  bore  the  slender  figure  of  a  girl.  She  was 
bending  forward  and  her  hands  were  twisted  in  the  pony's 
mane. 

By  this  time  the  Colonel  and  Jonathan  were  standing  in 
the  shallow  water  waiting  to  grasp  the  reins  and  lead  the 
horses  up  the  steep  bank.  Attracted  by  the  unusual  sight  of 
a  wildly  gesticulating  group  on  the  river  bluff,  the  settler? 
from  the  Fort  hunv"J  down  to  the  scene  of  action.  Capt, 
Boggs  and  Alfred  Cl{>rke  joined  the  crowd.  Old  Sam  came 
running  down  from  the  barn.  All  were  intensely  excited  as 
Col.  Zane  and  Jonathan  reached  for  the  bridles  and  led  the 
horses  up  the  slippery  incline. 

"Eb,  Jack,  Silas,  here  I  am  alive  and  well,"  cried  Isaac  as 
he  leaped  from  his  horse.  "Betty,  you  darling,  it's  Isaac. 
Don't  stand  staring  as  if  I  were  a  ghost." 

Whereupon  Betty  ran  to  him,  flung  her  arms  around  his 
neck  and  clung  to  him.  Isaac  kissed  her  tenderly  and  dis 
engaged  himself  from  her  arms. 

"You'll  get  all  wet.  Glad  to  see  me?  Well,  I  never  had 
such  a  happy  moment  in  my  life.  Betty,  I  have  brought  you 
some  one  whom  you  must  love.  This  is  Myeerah,  your  sister, 


202  Betty    Zane 

She  is  wet  and  cold.  Take  her  home  and  make  her  warm  and 
comfortable.  You  must  forget  all  the  past,  for  Myeerah  has 
saved  me  from  the  stake." 

Betty  had  forgotten  the  other.  At  her  brother's  words  she 
turned  and  saw  a  slender  form.  Even  the  wet,  mud-stained 
and  ragged  Indian  costume  failed  to  hide  the  grace  of  that 
figure.  She  saw  a  beautiful  face,  as  white  as  her  own,  and 
dark  eyes  full  of  unshed  tears. 

"The  Eagle  is  free,"  said  the  Indian  girl  in  her  low,  mu 
sical  voice. 

"You  have  brought  him  home  to  us.  Come,"  said  Betty, 
taking  the  hand  of  the  trembling  maiden. 

The  settlers  crowded  round  Isaac  and  greeted  him  warmly, 
while  they  plied  him  with  innumerable  questions.  Was  he 
free?  Who  was  the  Indian  girl?  Had  he  run  off  with  her? 
Were  the  Indians  preparing  for  war? 

On  the  way  to  the  Colonel's  house  Isaac  told  briefly  of  his 
escape  from  the  Wyandots,  of  his  capture  by  Cornplanter, 
and  of  his  rescue.  He  also  mentioned  the  preparations  for 
war  he  had  seen  in  Cornplanter's  camp,  and  Girty's  story  of 
Col.  Crawford's  death. 

"How  does  it  come  that  you  have  the  Indian  girl  with  you?" 
asked  Col.  Zane  as  they  left  the  curious  settlers  and  entered 
the  house. 

"I  am  going  to  marry  Myeerah  and  I  brought  her  with  me 
for  that  purpose.  When  we  are  married  I  will  go  back  to  the 
Wyandots  and  live  with  them  until  peace  is  declared." 

"Humph!     Will  it  be  declared?" 

"Myeerah  has  promised  it,  and  I  believe  she  can  bring  it 
about,  especially  if  I  marry  her.  Peace  with  the  Hurons  may 
help  to  bring  about  peace  with  the  Shawnees.  I  shall  never 
cease  to  work  for  that  end;  but  even  if  peace  cannot  be  se- 
turcd,  my  duty  still  is  to  Myeerah.  She  saved  me  from  a 
most  horrible  death." 

"If  your  marriage  with  this  Indian  girl  will  secure  the 
friendly  offices  of  that  grim  old  warrior  Tarhe,  it  is  far  more 
than  fighting  will  ever  do.  I  do  not  want  you  to  go  back. 
Would  we  ever  see  you  again?" 


Betty    Zane  203 

"Oh,  yes,  often  I  hope.  You  see,  If  I  marry  Myeerah  the 
Hurons  will  allow  me  every  liberty." 

"Well,  that  puts  a  different  light  on  the  subject.'* 

"Oh,  how  I  wish  you  and  Jonathan  could  have  seen  Thun 
dercloud  and  his  two  hundred  warriors  ride  into  Cornplanter's 
camp.  It  was  magnificent!  The  braves  were  all  crowded 
near  the  stake  where  I  was  bound.  The  fire  had  bean  lighted. 
Suddenly  the  silence  was  shattered  by  an  awful  yell.  It  was 
Thundercloud's  yell.  I  knew  it  because  I  had  heard  it  before, 
and  anyone  who  had  once  heard  that  yell  could  never  forget  it. 
In  what  seemed  an  incredibly  short  time  Thundercloud's  war 
riors  were  lined  up  in  the  middle  of  the  camp.  The  surprise 
was  so  complete  that,  had  it  been  necessary,  they  could  have 
ridden  Cornplanter's  braves  down,  killed  many,  routed  the 
others,  and  burned  the  village.  Cornplanter  will  not  get  over 
that  surprise  in  many  a  moon." 

Betty  had  always  hated  the  very  mention  of  the  Indian  girl 
who  had  been  the  cause  of  her  brother's  long  absence  from 
home.  But  she  was  so  happy  in  the  knowledge  of  his  return 
that  she  felt  that  it  was  in  her  power  to  forgive  much ;  more 
over,  the  white,  weary  face  of  the  Indian  maiden  touched 
Betty's  warm  heart.  With  her  quick  intuition  she  had  divined 
that  this  was  even  a  greater  trial  for  Myeerah.  Undoubtedly 
the  Indian  girl  feared  the  scorn  of  her  lover's  people.  She 
showed  it  in  her  trembling  hands,  in  her  fearful  glances. 

Finding  that  Myeerah  could  speak  and  understand  English 
Betty  became  more  interested  in  her  charge  every  moment. 
She  set  about  to  make  Myeerah  comfortable,  and  while  she  re» 
moved  the  wet  and  stained  garments  she  talked  all  the  time. 
She  told  her  how  happy  she  was  that  Isaac  was  alive  and  well. 
She  said  Myeerah's  heroism  in  saving  him  should  atone  for  al? 
the  past,  and  that  Isaac's  family  would  welcome  her  in  his 
liome. 

Gradually  Myeerah's  agitation  subsided  under  Betty's 
sweet  graciousness,  and  by  the  time  Betty  had  dressed  her  in 
a  white  gown,  had  brushed  the  dark  hair  and  added  a  bright 
ribbon  to  the  simple  toilet,  Myeerah  had  so  far  forgotten  her 
fears  as  tc  take  a  shy  pleasure  in  the  picture  of  herself  in  the 


804  Betty    Zane 

mirror.     As  for  Betty,  she  gave  vent  to  a  little  cry  of  delight. 

"Oh,  you  are  perfectly  lovely,"  cried  Betty.  "In  that 
gown  no  one  would  know  you  as  a  Wyandot  princess." 

"Myeerah's  mother  was  a  white  woman." 

"I  have  heard  your  story,  Myeerah,  and  it  is  wonderful. 
"Y  )u  must  tell  me  all  about  your  life  with  the  Indians.  You 
speak  my  language  almost  as  well  as  I  do.  Who  taught  you  ??> 

"Myeerah  learned  to  talk  with  the  White  Eagle.  She  can 
speak  French  with  the  Coureurs-des-bois." 

"That's  more  than  I  can  do,  Myeerah.  And  I  had  a 
French  teacher,"  said  Betty,  laughing. 

"Hello,  up  there,"  came  Isaac's  voice  from  below. 

"Come  up,  Isaac,"  called  Betty. 

"Is  this  my  Indian  sweetheart?"  exclaimed  Isaac,  stopping 
at  the  door.  "Betty,  isn't  she " 

"Yes,"  answered  Betty,  "she  is  simply  beautiful." 

"Come,  Myeerah,  we  must  go  down  to  supper,"  said  Isaac, 
taking  her  in  his  arms  and  kissing  her.  "Now  you  must  not 
be  afraid,  nor  mind  being  looked  at." 

"Everyone  will  be  kind  to  you,"  said  Betty,  taking  her 
hand.  Myeerah  had  slipped  from  Isaac's  arm  and  hesitated 
and  hung  back.  "Come,"  continued  Betty,  "I  will  stay  with 
you,  and  you  need  not  talk  if  you  do  not  wish." 

Thus  reassured  Myeerah  allowed  Betty  to  lead  her  down 
stairs.  Isaac  had  gone  ahead  and  was  waiting  at  the  door. 

The  big  room  was  brilliantly  lighted  with  pine  knots.  Mrs. 
Zane  was  arranging  the  dishes  on  the  table.  Old  Sam  and 
Annie  were  hurrying  to  and  fro  from  the  kitchen.  Col.  Zane 
had  just  come  up  the  cellar  stairs  carrying  a  mouldy  looking 
cask.  From  its  appearance  it  might  have  been  a  powder  keg, 
but  the  merry  twinkle  in  the  Colonel's  eyes  showed  that  the 
cask  contained  something  as  precious,  perhaps,  as  powder,  but 
not  quite  so  dangerous.  It  was  a  cask  of  wine  over  thirty 
years  old.  With  Col.  Zane's  other  effects  it  had  stood  the  test 
of  the  long  wagon-train  journey  over  the  Virginia  moun* 
tains,  and  of  the  raft-ride  down  the  Ohio.  Col.  Zane  thought 
the  feast  he  had  arranged  for  Isaac  would  be  a  fitting1 
«ion  for  the  breaking  of  .the  cask. 


Betty     Zane  205 

Major  McCullough,  Capt.  Boggs  and  Hugh  Bennet  had 
been  invited.  Wetzel  had  been  persuaded  to  come.  Betty's 
friends  Lydia  and  Alice  were  there. 

As  Isaac,  with  an  air  of  pride,  led  the  two  girls  into  the 
room  Old  Sam  saw  them  and  he  exclaimed,  "For  de  Lawd's 
sakes,  Marsh  Zane,  dar's  two  pippins,  sure  can't  tell  'em  from 
one  anudder." 

Betty  and  Myeerah  did  resemble  each  other.  They  were 
of  about  the  same  size,  tall  and  slender.  Betty  was  rosy, 
bright-eyed  and  smiling;  Myeerah  was  pale  one  moment  and 
red  the  next. 

"Friends,  this  is  Myeerah,  the  daughter  of  Tarhe,"  said 
Isaac  simply.  "We  are  to  be  married  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  why  did  you  not  tell  me?"  asked  Betty  in  great  sur 
prise.  "She  said  nothing  about  it." 

"You  see  Myeerah  has  that  most  excellent  trait  in  a  woman 
— knowing  when  to  keep  silent,"  answered  Isaac  with  a  smile. 

The  door  opened  at  this  moment,  admitting  Will  Martin 
and  Alfred  Clarke. 

"Everybody  is  here  now,  Bessie,  and  I  guess  we  may  as 
well  sit  down  to  supper,"  said  Col.  Zane.  "And,  good  friends, 
let  me  say  that  this  is  an  occasion  for  rejoicing.  It  is  not  so 
much  a  marriage  that  I  mean.  That  we  might  have  any  day 
if  Lydia  or  Betty  would  show  some  of  the  alacrity  which  got 
a  good  husband  for  Alice.  Isaac  is  a  free  man  and  we  expect 
his  marriage  will  bring  about  peace  with  a  powerful  tribe 
of  Indians.  Tons,  and  particularly  to  you,  young  people,  that 
is  a  matter  of  great  importance.  The  friendship  of  the  Hu- 
rons  cannot  but  exert  an  influence  on  other  tribes.  I,  myselfs 
may  live  to  see  the  day  that  my  dream  shall  be  realized — 
peaceful  and  friendly  relations  with  the  Indians,  the  freedom 
of  the  soil,  well-tilled  farms  and  growing  settlements,  and  at 
last,  the  opening  of  this  glorious  country  to  the  world. 
Therefore,  let  us  rejoice;  let  every  one  be  happy;  let  your 
gayest  laugh  ring  out,  and  tell  your  best  story." 

Betty  had  blushed  painfully  at  the  entrance  of  Alfred  and 
again  at  the  Colonel's  remark.  To  add  to  her  embarrassment 
she  found  herself  seated  opposite  Alfred  at  the  table.  This 


206  Betty    Z  a  n  e 

was  the  first  time  he  had  been  near  her  since  the  Sunday  at 
the  meeting-house,  and  the  incident  had  a  singular  effect  on 
Betty.  She  found  herself  possessed,  all  at  once,  of  an  un 
accountable  shyness,  and  she  could  not  lift  her  eyes  from  her 
plate.  But  at  length  she  managed  to  steal  a  glance  at  Alfred. 
She  failed  to  see  any  signs  in  his  beaming  face  of  the  broken 
spirit  of  which  her  brother  had  hinted.  He  looked  very  well, 
indeed.  He  was  eating  his  dinner  like  any  other  healthy 
man,  and  talking  and  laughing  with  Lydia.  This  developed 
another  unaccountable  feeling  in  Betty,  but  this  time  it  was 
resentment.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  man,  who  was  as  much  in 
love  as  his  letter  said,  looking  well  and  enjoying  himself  with 
any  other  than  the  object  of  his  affections?  Ke  had  got  over 
it,  that  was  all.  Just  then  Alfred  turned  and  gazed  full  into 
Betty's  eyes.  She  lowered  them  instantly,  but  not  so  quickly 
that  she  failed  to  see  in  his  a  reproach. 

"You  are  going  to  stay  with  us  a  while,  are  you  not?"  aske4 
Betty  of  Isaac.  \ 

"No,  Betts,  not  more  than  a  day  or  so.  Now,  do  not  look 
so  distressed.  I  do  not  go  bacK  as  a  prisoner.  Myeerah  and 
I  can  often  come  and  visit  you.  But  just  now  I  want  to  get 
back  and  try  to  prevent  the  Delawares  from  urging  Tarhe  to 


war." 


"Isaac,  I  believe  you  are  doing  the  wisest  thing  possible,'* 
said  Capt.  Boggs.  "And  when  I  look  at  your  bride- 
to-be  I  confess  I  do  not  see  how  you  remained  single  so 
long." 

"That's  so,  Captain,"  answered  Isaac.  "But  you  see,  I 
have  never  been  satisfied  or  contented  in  captivity^  J  wanted 
nothing  but  to  be  free.'* 

"In  other  words,  you  were  blind,"  remarked  Alfred,  smiling 
at  Isaac. 

"Yes,  Alfred,  I  was.  And  I  imagine  had  you  been  in  my 
pla<;e  you  would  have  discovered  the  beauty  and  virtue  of  my 
Princess  long  before  I  did.  Nevertheless,  please  do  not  favor 
Myeerah  with  so  many  admiring  glances.  She  is  not  used  to 
ii>  And  that  reminds  me  that  I  must  expect  trouble  tomor- 
wow.  All  you  fellows  will  want  to  kiss  her." 


" 


Betty    Zane  207 

"And  Betty  is  going  to  be  maid  of  honor.  She,  too,  will 
have  her  troubles,"  remarked  Col.  Zane. 

"Think  of  that,  Alfred,"  said  Isaac.  "A  chance  to  kiss 
the  two  prettiest  girls  on  the  border  —  a  chance  of  a  life 
time." 

"It  is  customary,  is  it  not?"  said  Alfred  coolly. 

"Yes,  it's  a  custom,  if  you  can  catch  the  girl,"  answered 
Zane. 

Betty's  face  flushed  at  Alfred's  cool  assumption.  How 
dared  he?  In  spite  of  her  will  she  could  not  resist  the  power 
that  compelled  her  to  look  at  him.  As  plainly  as  if  it  were 
written  there,  she  saw  in  his  steady  blue  eyes  the  light  of  a 
memory  —  the  memory  of  a  kiss.  And  Betty  dropped  her 
head,  her  face  burning,  her  heart  on  fire  with  shame,  and  love, 
regret. 

It'll  be  a  good  chance  for  me,  too,"  said  Wetzel.    His  re 
mark  instantly  turned  attention  to  himself. 

"The  idea  is  absurd,"  said  Isaac.  "Why,  Lew  Wetzel,  you 
could  not  be  made  to  kiss  any  girl." 

"I  would  not  be  backward  about  it,"  said  Col.  2ane. 

"You  have  forgotten  the  fuss  you  made  when  the  boys  were 
kissing  me,"  said  Mrs.  Zane  with  a  fine  scorn. 

"My  dear,"  said  Col.  Zane,  in  an  aggrieved  tone,  "I  did  not 
make  so  much  of  a  fuss,  as  you  call  it,  until  they  had  kissed 
you  a  great  many  times  more  than  was  reasonable." 

"Isaac,  tell  us  one  thing  more,"  said  Capt.  Boggs.  "How 
did  Myeerah  learn  of  your  capture  by  Complanter?  Surely 
she  could  not  have  trailed  you?" 

"Will  you  tell  us  ?"  said  Isaac  to  Myeerah. 

"A  bird  sang  it  to  me,"  answered  Myeerah. 

"She  will  never  tell,  that  is  certain,"  said  Isaac.  "And  for 
that  reason  I  believe  Simon  Girty  got  word  to  her  that  I  was  in 
the  hands  of  Complanter.  At  the  last  moment  when  the  In 
dians  were  lashing  me  to  the  stake  Girty  came  to  me  and  said 
he  must  have  been  too  late." 

"Yes,  Girty  might  have  done  that,"  said  Col.  Zane.  "I 
suppose,  though,  he  dared  not  interfere  in  behalf  of  poor 
Crawford." 


208  Betty     Z  *  n  v 

"Isaac,  can  you  get  Myeerah  to  talk?  I  love  to  hear  her 
speak,"  said  Betty,  in  an  aside. 

"Myeerah,  will  you  sing  a  Huron  love-song?"  said  Isaac. 
"Or,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  sing,  tell  a  story.  I  want  them  to 
know  how  well  you  can  speak  our  language." 

"What  shall  Myeerah  say?"  she  said,  shyly. 

"Tell  them  the  legend  of  the  Standing  Stone." 

"A  beautiful  Indian  girl  once  dwelt  in  the  pine  forests," 
began  Myeerah,  with  her  eyes  cast  down  and  her  hand  seeking 
Isaac's.  "Her  voice  was  like  rippling  waters,  her  beauty  like 
the  rising  sun.  From  near  and  from  far  came  warriors  to 
see  the  fair  face  of  this  maiden.  She  smiled  on  them  all  and 
they  called  her  Smiling  Moon.  Now  there  lived  on  the  Great 
Lake  a  Wyandot  chief.  He  was  young  and  bold.  No  war 
rior  was  as  great  as  Tarhe.  Smiling  Moon  cast  a  spell  on 
his  heart.  He  came  manv  times  to  woo  her  and  make  her 

tl 

his  wife.  But  Smiling  Moon  said :  'Go,  do  great  deeds,  and 
come  again.' 

"Tarhe  searched  the  east  and  the  west.  He  brought  her 
strange  gifts  from  strange  lands.  She  said:  'Go  and  slay 
my  enemies.'  Tarhe  went  forth  in  his  war  paint  and  killed 
the  braves  who  named  her  Smiling  Moon.  He  came  again  to 
her  and  she  said:  'Run  swifter  than  the  deer,  be  more  cun 
ning  than  the  beaver,  dive  deeper  than  the  loon.* 

"Tarhe  passed  once  more  to  the  island  where  dwelt  Smil 
ing  Moon.  The  ice  was  thick,  the  snow  was  deep.  Smilingr 
Moon  turned  not  from  her  warm  fire  as  she  said:  'The  chief 
is  a  great  warrior,  but  Smiling  Moon  is  not  easily  won.  It  is 
cold.  Change  winter  into  summer  and  then  Smiling  Moon 
will  love  him.' 

"Tarhe  cried  in  a  loud  voice  to  the  Great  Spirit:  'Make 
me  a  master.' 

"A  voice  out  of  the  forest  answered:  'Tarhe,  great  war 
rior,  wise  chief,  waste  not  thy  time,  go  back  to  thy  wigwam/ 

"Tarhe  unheeding  cried  •  'Tarhe  wins  or  dies.  Make  him 
a  master  so  that  he  may  drive  the  ice  northward.' 

"Stormed  the  wild  tempest;  thundered  the  rivers  of  ice; 
chill  blew  the  north  wind,  the  cold  northwest  wind,  against  the 


Betty    Zane  209 

mild  south  wind;  snow-spirits  and  hail-spirits  fled  before  the 
warm  raindrops;  the  white  mountains  melted,  and  lo!  it  was 
summer. 

"On  the  mountain  top  Tarhe  waited  for  his  bride.  Never 
wearying,  ever  faithful  he  watched  many  years.  There  he 
turned  to  stone.  There  he  stands  to-day,  the  Standing  Stone 
of  ages.  And  Smiling  Moon,  changed  by  the  Great  Spirit 
into  the  Night  Wind,  forever  wails  her  lament  at  dusk  through 
the  forest  trees,  and  moans  over  the  mountain  tops." 

Myeerah's  story  elicited  cheers  and  praises  from  all.  She 
was  entreated  to  tell  another,  but  smilingly  shook  her  head. 
Now  that  her  shyness  had  worn  off  to  some  extent  she  took 
great  interest  in  the  jest  and  the  general  conversation. 

Col.  Zane's  fine  old  wine  flowed  like  water.  The  custom 
was  to  fill  a  guest's  cup  as  soon  as  it  was  empty.  Drinking 
much  was  rather  encouraged  than  otherwise.  But  Col.  Zane 
never  allowed  this  custom  to  go  too  far  in  his  house. 

"Friends,  the  hour  grows  late,"  he  said.  "To-morrow,  after 
the  great  event,  we  shall  have  games,  shooting  matches,  run 
ning  races,  and  contests  of  all  kinds.  Capt.  Boggs  and  I 
have  arranged  to  give  prizes,  and  I  expect  the  girls  can  give 
Something  to  lend  a  zest  to  ^-e  competition." 

"Will  the  girls  have  a  chance  in  these  races?"  asked  Isaac. 
"If  so,  I  should  like  to  see  Betty  and  Myeerah  run." 

"Betty  can  outrun  any  woman,  red  or  white,  on  the  border,** 
said  Wetzel.  "And  she  could  make  some  of  the  men  run  their 
level  best." 

"Well,  perhaps  we  shall  give  her  one  opportunity  to-mor- 
row,"  observed  the  Colonel.  "She  used  to  be  good  at  running, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  of  late  she  has  taken  to  books  and * 

"Oh,  Eb!  that  is  untrue,"  interrupted  Betty. 

Col.  Zane  laughed  and  patted  his  sister's  cheek.  "Never 
mind,  Betty,"  and  then,  rising,  he  continued,  "Now  let  us 
drink  to  the  bride  and  groom-to-be.  Capt.  Boggs,  I  call  on 
you." 

"We  drink  to  the  bride's  fair  beauty;  we  drink  to  the 
groom's  good  luck,"  said  Capt.  Boggs,  raising  his  cup. 

"Do  not  forget  the  maid-of -honor,"  said  Isaac. 


210  Betty    Zan« 

"Yes,  and  the  maid-of-honor.  Mr.  Clarke,  will  you  saj 
something  appropriate?"  asked  Col.  Zane. 

Rising,  Clarke  said:  "I  would  be  glad  to  speak  fittingly 
on  this  occasion,  but  I  do  not  think  I  can  do  it  justice.  I  be 
lieve  as  Col.  Zane  does,  that  this  Indian  Princess  is  the  first 
link  in  that  chain  of  peace  which  will  some  day  unite  the 
feel  men  and  the  white  men.  Instead  of  the  White  Crane  she 
should  be  called  the  White  Dove.  Gentlemen,  rise  and  drink 
to  her  long  life  and  happiness." 

The  toast  was  drunk.  Then  Clarke  refilled  his  cup  ano* 
holding  it  high  over  his  head  he  looked  at  Betty. 

"Gentlemen,  to  the  maid-of-honor.  Miss  Zane,  your  hoalth» 
your  happiness,  in  this  good  old  wine." 

"I  thank  you,"  murmured  Betty  with  downcast  eyes.  "I 
bid  you  all  good-night.  Come,  Myeerah." 

Once  more  alone  with  Betty,  the  Indian  girl  turned  to  her 
with  eyes  like  twin  stars. 

"My  sister  has  made  me  very  happy,"  whispered  Myeerah, 
in  her  soft,  low  voice.  "Myeerah's  heart  is  full." 

"I  believe  you  are  happy,  for  I  know  you  love  Isaac  dearly." 

"Myeerah  has  always  loved  him.     She  will  love  his  sister." 

"And  I  will  love  you,"  said  Betty.  "I  will  love  you  be 
cause  you  have  saved  him.  Ah!  Myeerah,  yours  has  been  a 
wonderful,  wonderful  love." 

"My  sister  is  loved,"  whispered  Myeerah.  "Myeerah  saw 
the  look  in  the  eyes  of  the  great  hunter.  It  was  the  sad  light 
of  the  moon  on  the  water.  He  loves  you.  And  the  other 
looked  at  my  sister  with  eyes  like  the  blue  of  northern  slies, 
He,  too,  loves  you." 

"Hush !"  whispered  Betty,  trembling  and  hiding  her  i  ace 
"Hush !  Myeerah,  do  not  speak  of  him." 


CHAPTER   XL 

HE  following  afternoon  the  sun  shone 
fair  and  warm;  the  sweet  smell 
of  the  tan-bark  pervaded  the  air; 
and  the  birds  sang  their  gladsome 
songs.  The  scene  before  the  grim, 
battle-scarred  old  fort  was  not 
without  its  picturesqueness.  The 
low  vine-covered  cabins  on  the  hill 
side  looked  more  like  picture 
houses  than  like  real  habitations 
of  men ;  the  mill  with  its  burned-out  roof — a  reminder  of  the 
Indians — and  its  great  wheel,  now  silent  and  still,  might  have 
been  from  its  lonely  and  dilapidated  appearance  a  hundred 
years  old. 

On  a  little  knoll  carpeted  with  velvety  grass  sat  Isaac  and 
his  Indian  bride.  He  had  selected  this  vantage  point  because 
it  afforded  a  fine  view  of  the  green  square  where  the  races 
and  the  matches  were  to  take  place.  Admiring  women  stood 
around  him  and  gazed  at  his  wife.  They  gossiped  in  whispers 
about  her  white  skin,  her  little  hands,  her  beauty.  The  girls 
stared  with  wide  open  and  wondering  eyes.  The  youngsters 
ran  round  and  round  the  little  group ;  they  pushed  each  other 
over,  and  rolled  in  the  long  grass,  and  screamed  with  delight. 
It  was  to  be  a  gala  occasion  and  every  man,  woman  and 
child  in  the  settlement  had  assembled  on  the  green.  Col.  Zane 
and  Sam  were  planting  a  post  in  the  center  of  the  square.  It 
was  to  be  used  in  the  shooting  matches.  Capt.  Boggs  and 
Major  McColloch  were  arranging  the  contestant  in  order. 
Jonathan  Zane,  Will  Martin,  Alfred  Clarke — all  the  young 
men  were  carefully  charging  and  priming  their  rifles.  Betty 
was  sitting  on  the  black  stallion  which  Col.  Zane  had  gener 
ously  offered  as  first  prize.  She  was  in  the  gayest  of  moods 
and  had  just  coaxed  Isaac  to  lift  her  on  the  tall  horse,  from 
which  height  she  purposed  watching  the  sports.  Wetze] 
alone  did  not  seem  infected  by  the  spirit  of  gladsomeness 

fan 


Betty    Zane* 

which  pervaded.  He  stood  apart  leaning  on  his  long  rifle 
and  taking  no  interest  in  the  proceedings  behind  him.  He 
was  absorbed  in  contemplating  the  forest  on  the  opposite 
shore  of  the  river. 

"Well,  boys,  I  guess  we  are  ready  for  the  fun,"  called 
Col.  Zane,  cheerily.  "Only  one  shot  apiece,  mind  you,  except 
in  case  of  a  tie.  Now,  everybody  shoot  his  best." 

The  first  contest  was  a  shooting  match  known  as  "driving 
the  nail."  It  was  as  the  name  indicated,  nothing  less  than 
shooting  at  the  head  of  a  nail.  In  the  absence  of  a  nail — for 
nails  were  scarce — one  was  usually  fashioned  from  a  knife 
blade,  or  an  old  file,  or  even  a  piece  of  silver.  The  nail  was 
driven  lightly  into  the  stake,  the  contestants  shot  at  it  from  a 
distance  as  great  as  the  eyesight  permitted.  To  drive  the 
nail  hard  and  fast  into  the  wood  at  one  hundred  yards  was  a 
feat  seldom  accomplished.  By  many  hunters  it  was -deemed 
more  difficult  than  "snuffing  the  candle,"  another  border  pas 
time,  which  consisted  of  placing  in  the  dark  at  any  distance 
a  lighted  candle,  and  then  putting  out  the  flame  with  a  single 
rifle  ball.  Many  settlers,  particularly  those  who  handled  the 
plow  more  than  the  rifle,  sighted  from  a  rest,  and  placed  a 
piece  of  moss  under  the  rifle-barrel  to  prevent  its  spring  at 
the  discharge. 

The  match  began.  Of  the  first  six  shooters  Jonathan  Zane 
and  Alfred  Clarke  scored  the  best  shots.  Each  placed  a  bul 
let  in  the  half-inch  circle  round  the  nail. 

"Alfred,  very  good,  indeed,"  said  Col.  Zane.  "Ymi  have 
made  a  decided  improvement  since  the  last  shooting-match." 

Six  other  settlers  took  their  turns.  All  were  unsuccessful 
in  getting  a  shot  inside  the  little  circle.  Thus  a  tie  between 
Alfred  and  Jonathan  had  to  be  decided. 

"Shoot  close,  Alfred,"  yelled  Isaac.  "I  hope  you  beat  him. 
He  always  won  from  me  and  then  crowed  over  it." 

Alfred's  second  shot  went  wide  of  the  mark,  and  as  Jona« 
than  placed  another  Bullet  in  the  circle,  this  time  nearer  the 
center,  Alfred  had  to  acknowledge  defeat. 

"Here  comes  Miller,"  said  Silas  Zane.  "Perhaps  he  w33 
want  a  try." 


Betty    Zane  213 

Col.  Zane  looked  round.  Miller  had  joined  the  party.  He 
carried  his  rifle  and  accoutrements,  and  evidently  had 
just  returned  to  the  settlement.  He  nodded  pleasantly  to 
all. 

"Miller,  will  you  take  a  shot  for  the  first  prize,  which  I 
was  about  to  award  to  Jonathan  ?"  said  Col.  Zane. 

"No.  I  am  a  little  late,  and  not  entitled  to  a  shot.  I  will 
take  a  try  for  the  others,"  answered  Miller. 

At  the  arrival  of  Miller  on  the  scene  Wetzel  had  changed 
his  position  to  one  nearer  the  crowd.  The  dog,  Tige,  trotted 
closely  at  his  heels.  No  one  heard  Tige's  low  growl  or  Wet- 
zel's  stern  word  to  silence  him.  Throwing  his  arm  over  Betty's 
pony,  Wetzel  apparently  watched  the  shooters.  In  reality  he 
studied  intently  Miller's  every  movement. 

"I  expect  some  good,  shooting  for  this  prize,"  said  Col. 
Zane,  waving  a  beautifully  embroidered  buckskin  bullet  pouch, 
which  was  one  of  Betty's  donations. 

Jonathan  having  won  his  prize  was  out  of  the  lists  and 
could  compete  no  more.  This  entitled  Alfred  to  the  first  shot 
for  second  prize.  He  felt  he  would  give  anythmg  he  pos 
sessed  to  win  the  dainty  trifle  which  the  Colonel  had  waved 
aloft.  Twice  he  raised  his  rifle  in  his  exceeding  earnestness 
to  score  a  good  shot  and  each  time  lowered  the  barrel.  When 
finally  he  did  shoot  the  bullet  embedded  itself  in  the  second 
circle.  It  was  a  good  shot,  but  he  knew  ib  would  never  win 
that  prize. 

"A  little  nervous,  eh?"  remarked  Miller,  with  a  half  sneer 
on  his  swarthy  face. 

Several  young  settlers  followed  in  succession,  but  their  aims 
were  poor.  Then  little  Harry  Bennet  took  &is  stand.  Harry 
had  won  many  prizes  in  former  matches,  acd  many  of  the 
pioneers  considered  him  one  of  the  best  shots  in  the  country. 

"Only  a  few  more  after  you,  Harry,"  saM  €ol.  Zane.  "You 
have  a  good  chance." 

"All  right,  Colonel.  That's  Betty's  priz*  and  somebody'll 
have  to  do  some  mighty  tall  shootin*  to  beat  ,&e,"  said  the  lad, 
his  blue  eyes  flashing  as  he  toed  the  mark. 

Shouts  and  cheers  of  approval  greeted  his  attempt.     Hit 


Betty    Zane 

bullet  had  passed  into  the  wood  so  close  to  the  nail  that  a  knife 
blade  could  not  have  been  inserted  between. 

Miller's  turn  came  next.  He  was  a  fine  marksman  and  he 
knew  it.  With  the  confidence  born  of  long  experience  and 
knowledge  of  his  weapon,  he  took  a  careful  though  quick  aim 
and  fired.  He  turned  away  satisfied  that  he  would  carry  off 
the  coveted  prize.  He  had  nicked  the  nail. 

But  Miller  reckoned  without  his  host.  Betty  had  seen  the 
result  of  his  shot  and  the  self-satisfied  smile  on  his  face.  She 
watched  several  of  the  settlers  make  poor  attempts  at  the 
nail,  and  then,  convinced  that  not  one  of  the  other  contestants 
could  do  so  well  as  Miller,  she  slipped  off  the  horse  and  ran 
around  to  where  Wetzel  was  standing  by  her  pony. 

"Lew,  I  believe  Miller  will  win  my  prize,"  she  whispv  .*ed, 
placing  her  hand  on  the  hunter's  arm.  "He  has  scratched  the 
nail,  and  I  am  sure  no  one  except  you  can  do  better.  I  do  not 
want  Miller  to  have  anything  of  mine." 

"And,  little  girl,  you  want  me  to  shoot  fer  you,"  said 
Lewis. 

"Yes,  Lew,  please  come  and  shoot  for  me." 

It  was  said  of  Wetzel  that  he  never  wasted  powder.  He 
never  entered  into  the  races  and  shooting-matches  of  the  set 
tlers,  yet  it  was  well  known  that  he  was  the  fleetest  runner  and 
the  most  unerring  shot  on  the  frontier.  Therefore,  it  was 
with  surprise  and  pleasure  that  Col.  Zane  heard  the  hunter 
say  he  guessed  he  would  like  one  shot  anyway. 

Miller  looked  on  with  a  grim  smile.  He  knew  that,  Wetzel 
or  no  Wetzel,  it  would  take  a  remarkably  clever  shot  to  beat 
his. 

"This  shot's  fer  Betty,"  said  Wetzel  as  he  stepped  to  the 
mark.  He  fastened  his  keen  eyes  on  the  stake.  At  that  dis 
tance  the  head  of  the  nail  looked  like  a  tiny  black  speck. 
Wetzel  took  one  of  the  locks  of  hair  that  waved  over  his 
broad  shoulders  and  held  it  up  in  front  of  his  eyes  a  moment. 
He  thus  ascertained  that  there  was  not  any  perceptible  breeze. 
The  long  black  barrel  started  slowly  to  rise — it  seemed  to  the 
interested  onlookers  that  it  would  never  reach  a  level — and 
when,  at  last,  it  became  rigid,  there  was  a  single  second  in 


£etty    Zane  215 

which  man  and  rifle  appeared  as  if  carved  out  of  stone.  Then 
followed  a  burst  of  red  flame,  a  puff  of  white  smoke,  a  clear 
ringing  report. 

Many  thought  the  hunter  had  missed  altogether.  It  seemed 
that  the  nail  had  not  changed  its  position ;  there  was  no  bullet 
hole  in  the  white  lime  wash  that  had  been  smeared  round  the 
nail.  But  on  close  inspection  the  nail  was  found  to  have  been 
driven  to  its  head  in  the  wood. 

"A  wonderful  shot !"  exclaimed  Col.  Zane.  "Lewis,  I  donM 
remember  having  seen  the  like  more  than  once  or  twice  in  my 
life." 

Wetzel  made  no  answer.  He  moved  away  to  his  former 
position  and  commenced  to  reload  his  rifle.  Betty  came  run 
ning  up  to  him,  holding  in  her  hand  the  prize  bullet 
pouch. 

"Oh,  Lew,  if  I  dared  I  would  kiss  you.  It  pleases  me 
more  for  you  to  have  won  my  prize  than  if  any  one  else  had 
won  it.  And  it  was  the  finest,  straightest  shot  ever  made.** 

"Betty,  it's  a  little  fancy  for  redskins,  but  it'll  be  a  keep 
sake,"  answered  Lewis,  his  eyes  reflecting  the  bright  smile 
on  her  face. 

Friendly  rivalry  in  feats  that  called  for  strength,  speed 
and  daring  was  the  diversion  of  the  youth  of  that  period,  and 
the  pioneers  conducted  this  good-natured  but  spirited  sport 
strictly  on  its  merits.  Each  contestant  strove  his  utmost  to 
outdo  his  opponent.  It  was  hardly  to  be  expected  that  Alfred 
would  carry  off  any  of  the  laurels.  Used  as  he  had  seen  to 
comparative  idleness  he  was  no  match  for  the  hardy  lads  who 
had  been  brought  up  and  trained  to  a  life  of  action,  wherein 
a  ten  mile  walk  behind  a  plow,  or  a  cord  of  wood  chopped  in 
a  day,  were  trifles.  Alfred  lost  in  the  foot-race  and  the  sack- 
race,  but  by  dint  of  exerting  himself  to  the  limit  of  his 
strength,  he  did  manage  to  take  one  fall  out  of  the  best  wrest 
ler.  He  was  content  to  stop  here,  and,  throwing  himself  on  the 
grass,  endeavored  to  recover  his  breath.  He  felt  happier  to 
day  than  for  some  time  past.  Twice  during  the  afternoon 
he  had  met  Betty's  eyes  and  the  look  he  encountered  there  made 
his  heart  stir  with  a  sirange  feeling  of  fear  and  hope.  While 


216  Betty    Zane 

he  was  ruminating  on  what  had  happened  between  Betty  and 
himself  he  allowed  his  eyes  to  wander  from  one  person  to 
another.  When  his  gaze  alighted  on  Wetzel  it  became  riv 
eted  there.  The  hunter's  attitude  struck  him  as  singular. 
Wetzel  had  his  face  half  turned  toward  the  boys  romping 
near  him  and  he  leaned  carelessly  against  a  white  oak  tree. 
But  a  close  observer  would  have  seen,  as  Alfred  did,  that  there 
was  a  certain  alertness  in  that  rigid  and  motionless  figure. 
Wetzel's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  western  end  of  the  island. 
Almost  involuntarily  Alfred's  eyes  sought  the  same  direction. 
The  western  end  of  the  island  ran  out  into  a  long  low  point 
covered  with  briars,  rushes  and  saw-grass.  As  Alfred  directed 
his  gaze  along  the  water  line  of  this  point  he  distinctly  saw 
a  dark  form  flit  from  one  bush  to  another.  He  was  positive 
he  had  not  been  mistaken.  He  got  up  slowly  and  uncon 
cernedly,  and  strolled  over  to  Wetzel. 

"Wetzel,  I  saw  an  object  just  now,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone. 
"It  was  moving  behind  those  bushes  at  the  head  of  the  island. 
I  am  not  sure  whether  it  was  an  animal  or  an  Indian." 

•'Injuns.  Go  back  and  be  natur'l  like.  Don't  say  no  thin' 
and  watch  Miller,"  whispered  Wetzel. 

Much  perturbed  by  the  developments  of  the  last  lew  mo 
ments,  and  wondering  what  was  going  to  happen,  Alfred 
turned  away.  He  had  scarcely  reached  the  others  when  he 
heard  Betty's  voice  raised  in  indignant  protest. 

"I  tell  you  I  did  swim  my  pony  across  the  river,"  cried 
Betty.  "It  was  just  even  with  that  point  and  the  river  was 
higher  than  it  is  now." 

"You  probably  overestimated  your  feat,"  said  Miller,  with 
his  disagreeable,  doubtful  smile.  "I  have  seen  the  river  so  low 
that  it  could  be  waded,  and  then  it  would  be  a  very  easy  matter 
to  cross.  But  now  your  pony  could  not  swim  half  the  dis 
tance." 

"I'll  show  you,"  answeiad  Betty,  her  black  eyes  flashing. 
She  put  her  foot  in  the  stirrup  and  leaped  on  Madcap. 

"Now,  Betty,  don't  try  that  foolish  ride  again,"  implored 
Mrs.  Zane.  "What  do  you  care  whether  strangers  believe  it 
or  not?  Eb,  make  her  come  back." 


Betty    Zane 

Col.  Zane  only  laughed  and  made  no  attempt  to  detain 
Betty.  He  rather  indulged  her  caprices. 

"Stop  her!"  cried  Clarke. 

"Betty,  where  are  you  goin'?"  said  Wetzel,  grabbing  at 
Madcap's  bridle.  But  Betty  was  too  quick  for  him.  She 
avoided  the  hunter,  and  with  a  saucy  laugh  she  wheeled  the 
fiery  little  pony  and  urged  her  over  the  bank.  Almost  before 
any  one  could  divine  her  purpose  she  had  Madcap  in  the  water 
up  to  her  knees. 

"Betty,  stop  !"  cried  Wetzel. 

She  paid  no  attention  to  his  call.  In  another  moment  the 
pony  would  be  off  the  shoal  and  swimming. 

"Stop  !  Turn  back,  Betty,  or  I'll  shoot  the  pony,"  shouted 
Wetzel,  and  this  time  there  was  a  ring  of  deadly  earnestnes> 
in  his  voice.  With  the  words  he  had  cocked  and  thrown  for 
ward  the  long  rifle. 

Betty  heard,  and  in  alarm  she  turned  her  pony.  She  looked 
up  with  great  surprise  and  concern,  for  she  knew  Wetzel  was 
not  one  to  trifle. 

"For  God's  sake!"  exclaimed  Colonel  Zane,  looking  in 
amazement  at  the  hunter's  face,  which  was  now  white  and 


"Why,  Lew,  you  do  not  mean  you  would  shoot  Madcap?" 
said  Betty,  reproachfully,  as  she  reached  the  shore. 

All  present  in  that  watching  crowd  were  silent,  awaiting 
the  hunter's  answer.  They  felt  that  mysterious  power  which 
portends  the  revelation  of  strange  events.  Col.  Zane  and 
Jonathan  knew  the  instant  they  saw  Wetzel  that  something 
extraordinary  was  coming.  His  face  had  grown  cold  and 
gray  ;  his  lips  were  tightly  compressed  ;  his  eyes  dilated  and 
shone  with  a  peculiar  lustre. 

"Where  were  you  headin5  your  pony?"  asked  Wetzel. 

"I  wanted  to  reach  that  point  where  the  water  is  shallow," 
answered  Betty. 

"That's  what  I  thought.  Well,  Betty,  hostile  Injuns  are 
hidin'  and  waitin'  fer  you  in  them  high  rushes  right  where 
you  were  makin'  fer,"  said  Wetzel.  Then  he  shouldered  his 
rifle  and  walked  rapidly  away. 


218  Betty    Zane 

"Oh,  he  cannot  be  serious  P'  cried  Betty.  "Oh,  how  foolish 
I  am. 

"Get  back  up  from  the  river,  everybody,"  commanded  Col. 
Zane. 

"Col.  Zane,"  said  Clarke,  walking  beside  the  Colonel  up 
the  bank,  "I  saw  Wetzel  watching  che  island  in  a  manner  that 
I  thought  odd,  under  the  circumstances,  and  I  watched  too. 
Presently  I  saw  a  dark  form  dart  behind  a  bush.  I  went  over 
and  told  Wetzel,  and  he  said  there  were  Indians  on  the  island." 

"This  is  most  d n  strange,"  said  Col.  Zane,  frowning 

heavily.  "Wetzel's  suspicions,  Miller  turns  up,  teases  Betty 
attempting  that  foolhardy  trick,  and  then — Indians !  It  may 
be  a  coincidence,  but  it  looks  bad." 

"Col.  Zane,  don't  you  think  Wetzel  may  be  mistaken?"  said 
Miller,  coming  up.  "I  came  over  from  the  other  side  this 
morning  and  I  did  not  see  any  Indian  sign.  Probably  Wetzel 
has  caused  needless  excitement." 

"It  does  not  follow  that  because  you  came  from  over  the 
river  there  are  no  Indians  there,"  answered  Col.  Zane,  sharply. 
"Do  you  presume  to  criticise  Wetzel's  judgment?" 

"I  saw  an  Indian !"  cried  Clarke,  facing  Miller  with  blazing 
eyes.  "And  if  you  say  I  did  not,  you  lie !  What  is  more,  I 
believe  you  know  more  than  any  one  else  about  it.  I  watched 
you.  I  saw  you  were  uneasy  and  that  you  looked  across  the 
river  from  time  to  time.  Perhaps  you  had  better  explain  to 
Col.  Zane  the  reason  you  taunted  liis  sister  into  attempting 
that  ride." 

With  a  snarl  more  like  that  of  a  tiger  than  of  a  human 
being,  Miller  sprang  at  Clarke.  His  face  was  dark  with  ma 
lignant  hatred,  as  he  reached  for  and  drew  an  ugly  knife. 
There  were  cries  of  fright  from  the  children  and  screams  from 
the  women.  Alfred  stepped  aside  with  the  wonderful  quick 
ness  of  the  trained  boxer  and  shot  out  his  right  arm.  His 
fist  caught  Miller  a  hard  blow  on  the  head,  knocking  him 
down  and  sending  the  knife  flying  in  the  air. 

It  had  all  happened  so  quickly  that  everyone  was  as  if  par 
alyzed.  The  settlers  stood  still  and  watched  Miller  rise  slowly 
to  his  feet. 


Betty    Zane  219 

"Give  me  my  knife!"  he  cried  hoarsely.  The  knife  had 
fallen  at  the  feet  of  Major  McColloch,  who  had  concealed  it 
with  his  foot. 

"Let  this  end  right  here,"  ordered  Col.  Zane.  "Clarke, 
you  have  made  a  very  strong  statement.  Have  you  anything 
to  substantiate  your  words?" 

"I  think  I  have,"  said  Clarke.  He  was  standing  erect,  his 
face  white  and  his  eyes  like  blue  steel.  "I  knew  him  at  Ft. 
Pitt.  He  was  a  liar  and  a  drunkard  there.  He  was  a  friend 
of  the  Indians  and  of  the  British.  What  he  was  there  he 
must  be  here.  It  was  Wetzel  who  told  me  to  watch  him. 
Wetzel  and  I  both  think  he  knew  the  Indians  were  on  the 
island." 

"Col.  Zane,  it  is  false,"  said  Miller,  huskily.  "He  is  trying 
to  put  you  against  me.  He  hates  me  because  your  sister " 

"You  cur!"  cried  Clarke,  striking  at  Miller.  Col.  Zane 
struck  up  the  infuriated  young  man's  arm. 

"Give  us  knives,  or  anything,"  panted  Clarke. 

"Yes,  let  us  fight  it  out  now,"  said  Miller. 

"Capt.  Boggs,  take  Clarke  to  the  block-house.  Make  him 
stay  there  if  you  have  to  lock  him  up,"  commanded  Col.  Zane. 
"Miller,  as  for  you,  I  cannot  condemn  you  without  proof. 
If  I  knew  positively  that  there  were  Indians  on  the  island 
and  that  you  were  aware  of  it,  you  would  be  a  dead  man  in 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  say  it.  I  will  give  you  the  benefit  of 
the  doubt  and  twenty-four  hours  to  leave  the  Fort." 

The  villagers  dispersed  and  went  to  their  homes.  They 
«rere  inclined  to  take  Clarke's  side.  Miller  had  become  dis 
liked.  His  drinking  habits  and  his  arrogant  and  bold  manner 
had  slowly  undermined  the  friendships  he  had  made  during 
the  early  part  of  his  stay  at  Ft.  Henry ;  while  Clarke's  good 
humor  and  willingness  to  help  any  one,  his  gentleness  with  the 
children,  and  his  several  acts  of  heroism  had  strengthened  their 
regard. 

"Jonathan,  this  looks  like  some  of  Girty's  work.  I  wish 
I  knew  the  truth,"  said  Col.  Zane,  as  he,  his  brothers  and 
Betty  and  Myeerah  entered  the  house.  "Confound  it!  We 
can't  have  even  one  afternoon  of  enjoyment.  I  must  see  Lewis. 


220  Betty    Zane 

I  cannot  be  sure  of  Clarke.  He  is  evidently  bitter  against 
Miller.  That  would  have  been  a  terrible  fight.  Those  fellows 
have  had  trouble  before,  and  I  am  afraid  we  have  not  seen 
the  last  of  their  quarrel." 

"If  they  meet  again — but  how  can  you  keep  them  apart?" 
said  Silas.  "If  Miller  leaves  the  Fort  without  killing  Clarke 
he'll  hide  around  in  the  woods  and  wait  for  a  chance  to  shoot 
him." 

"Not  with  Wetzel  here,"  answered  Col.  Zane.  "Betty, 

do  you  see  what  your "  he  began,  turning  to  his  sister,  but 

when  he  saw  her  white  and  miserable  face  he  said  no  more. 

"Don't  mind,  Betts.  It  wasn't  any  fault  of  yours,"  said 
Isaac,  putting  his  arm  tenderly  round  the  trembling  girl.  "I 
for  another  believe  Clarke  was  right  when  he  said  Miller  knew 
there  were  Indians  over  the  river.  It  looks  like  a  plot  to 
abduct  you.  Have  no  fear  for  Alfred.  He  can  take  care  of 
himself.  He  showed  that  pretty  well." 

An  hour  later  Clarke  had  finished  his  supper  and  was  sitting 
by  his  window  smoking  his  pipe.  His  anger  had  cooled  some 
what  and  his  reflections  were  not  of  the  pleasantest  kind.'  He 
regretted  that  he  lowered  himself  so  far  as  to  fight  with  a 
man  little  better  than  an  outlaw.  Still  there  was  a.  grim  satis 
faction  in  the  thought  of  the  blow  he  had  given  Miller.  He 
remembered  he  had  asked  for  a  knife  and  that  his  enemy  and 
he  be  permitted  to  fight  to  the  death.  After  all  to  have 
ended,  then  and  there,  the  feud  between  them  would  have  been 
the  better  course ;  for  he  well  knew  Miller's  desperate  charac- 
ter>  that  he  had  killed  more  than  one  white  man,  and  that 
now  a  fair  fight  might  not  be  possible.  Well,  he  thought, 
what  did  it  matter?  He  was  not  going  to  worry  himself.  He 
did  not  care  much,  one  way  or  another.  He  had  no  home ;  he 
could^  not  make  one  without  the  woman  he  loved.  He  was~"a" 
Soldier  of  Fortune;  he  was  at  the  mercy  of  Fate,  and  he 
would  drift  along  and  let  what  came  be  welcome.  A  soft  foot 
fall  on  the  stairs  and  a  knock  on  the  door  interrupted  his 
thoughts. 

"Come  in,"  he  said. 

The  door  opened  and  Wetzel  strode  into  the  room. 


"I  come  over  to  say  somethin'  to  you,"  said  the  hnnter, 
taking  the  chair  by  the  window  and  placing  his  rifle  over  his 
knee. 

"I  will  be  pleased  to  listen  or  talk,  as  you  desire,"  said 
Alfred. 

"I  don't  mind  tellin'  you  that  the  punch  you  give  Miller 
was  what  he  deserved.  If  he  and  Girty  didn't  hatch  up  that 
trick  to  ketch  Betty,  I  don't  know  nothin'.  But  we  can't 
prove  nothin'  on  him  yet.  Mebbe  he  knew  about  the  redskins ; 
mebbe  he  didn't.  Personally,  I  think  he  did.  But  I  can't 
kill  a  white  man  because  I  think  somethin'.  I'd  have  to  know 
fer  sure.  What  I  want  to  say  is  to  put  you  on  your  guard 
against  the  baddest  man  on  the  river." 

"I  am  aware  of  that,"  answered  Alfred.  "I  knew  his  record 
at  Ft.  Pitt.  What  would  you  have  me  do?" 

"Keep  close  till  he's  gone." 

"That  would  be  cowardly." 

"No,  it  wouldn't.  He'd  shoot  you  from  behind  some  tree 
or  cabin." 

"Well,  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  advice,  but 
for  ail  that  I  won't  stay  in  the  house,"  said  Alfred,  beginning 
to  wonder  at  the  hunter's  earnest  manner. 

"You're  in  love  with  Betty,  ain't  you?" 

The  question  came  with  Wetzel's  usual  bluntness  and  it 
staggered  Alfred.  He  could  not  be  angry,  and  he  did  not 
know  what  to  say.  The  hunter  went  on : 

"You  needn't  say  so,  because  I  know  it.  And  I  know  she 
loves  you  and  that's  why  I  want  you  to  look  out  fer 
Miller." 

"My  God!  man,  you're  crazy,"  said  Alfred,  laughing 
scornfully.  "She  cares  nothing  for  me." 

"That's  your  great  failin',  young  feller.  You  fly  ofPen 
the  handle  too  easy.  And  so  does  Betty.  You  both  care 
fer  each  other  and  are  unhappy  about  it.  Now,  you  don't 
know  Betty,  and  she  keeps  misunderstandin'  you." 

"For  Heaven's  sake!  Wetzel,  if  you  know  anything  tell 
me.  Love  her?  Why,  the  words  are  weak!  I  love  her  so 
v,  ell  that  an  hour  ago  I  would  have  welcomed  death  at  Miller's 


Betty    Zane 

hands  only  to  fall  and  die  at  her  feet  defending  her.  Your 
words  set  me  on  fire.  What  right  have  you  to  say  that? 
How  do  you  know?" 

The  hunter  leaned  forward  and  put  his  hand  on  Alfred's 
shoulder.  On  his  pale  face  was  that  sublime  light  which  comes 
to  great  souls  when  they  give  up  a  life  long  secret,  or  when 
they  sacrifice  what  is  best  beloved.  His  broad  chest  heaved: 
his  deep  voice  trembled. 

"Listen.  I'm  not  a  man  fer  words,  and  it's  hard  to  tell. 
Betty  loves  you.  I've  carried  her  in  my  arms  when  she  was 
a  baby.  I've  made  her  toys  and  played  with  her  when  she 
was  a  little  girl.  I  know  all  her  moods.  I  can  read  her  like 
I  do  the  moss,  and  the  leaves,  and  the  bark  of  the  forest.  I've 
loved  her  all  my  life.  That's  why  I  know  she  loves  you.  I 
can  feel  it.  Her  happiness  is  the  only  dear  thing  left  on  earth 
fer  me.  And  that's  why  I'm  your  friend." 

In  the  silence  that  followed  his  words  the  door  opened  and 

closed  and  he  was  gone. 

********* 

Betty  awoke  with  a  start.  She  was  wide  awake  in  a  second. 
The  moonbeams  came  through  the  leaves  of  the  maple  tree  near 
her  window  and  cast  fantastic  shadows  on  the  wall  of  her  room. 
Betty  lay  quiet,  watching  the  fairy-like  figures  on  the  wall 
and  listening  intently.  What  had  awakened  her?  The  night 
was  still;  the  crow  of  a  cock  in  the  distance  proclaimed  that 
the  hour  of  dawn  was  near  at  hand.  She  waited  for  Tige's 
bark  under  her  window,  or  Sam's  voice,  or  the  kicking  and 
trampling  of  horses  in  the  barn — sounds  that  usually  broke 
her  slumbers  in  the  morning.  But  no  such  noises  were  forth 
coming.  Suddenly  she  heard  a  light,  quick  tap,  tap,  and  then 
a  rattling  in  the  corner.  It  was  like  no  sound  but  that  made  by 
a  pebble  striking  the  floor,  bounding  and  rolling  across  the 
room.  There  it  was  again.  Some  one  was  tossing  stones  in 
at  her  window.  She  slipped  out  of  bed,  ran,  and  leaned  on 
the  window-sill  and  looked  out.  The  moon  was  going  down 
behind  the  hill,  but  there  was  light  enough  for  her  to  dis~ 
tinguish  objects.  She  saw  a  dark  figure  crouching  by  the 
fence. 


Betty    Zane 

"Who  is  it?"  said  Betty,  a  little  frightened,  but  more  cu 
rious. 

"Sh-h-h,  it's  Miller,"  came  the  answer,  spoken  in  a 
low  voice. 

The  bent  form  straightened  and  stood  erect.  It  stepped 
forward  under  Betty's  window.  The  light  was  dim,  but  Betty 
recognized  the  dark  face  of  Miller.  He  carried  a  rifle  in  his 
hand  and  a  pack  on  his  shoulder. 

"Go  away,  or  I'll  call  my  brother.  I  will  not  listen  to  you," 
said  Betty,  making  a  move  to  leave  the  window. 

"Sh-h-h,  not  so  loud,"  said  Miller,  in  a  quick,  hoarse  whis 
per.  "You'd  better  listen.  I  am  going  across  the  border  to 
join  Girty.  He  is  going  to  bring  the  Indians  and  the  British 
here  to  burn  the  settlement.  If  you  will  go  away  with  me 
I'll  save  the  lives  of  your  brothers  and  their  families.  I  have 
aided  Girty  and  I  have  influence  with  him.  If  you  won't  go 
you'll  be  taken  captive  and  you'll  see  all  your  friends  and  rela 
tives  scalped  and  burned.  Quick,  your  answer." 

"Never,  traitor !  Monster !  I'd  be  burned  at  the  stake  be 
fore  I'd  go  a  step  with  you !"  cried  Betty. 

"Then  remember  that  you've  crossed  a  desperate  man.  If 
you  escape  the  massacre  you  will  beg  on  your  knees  to  me. 
This  settlement  is  doomed.  Now,  go  to  your  white-faced 
lover.  You'll  find  him  cold.  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!"  and  with  a 
taunting  laugh  he  leaped  the  fence  and  disappeared  in  the 
gloom. 

Betty  sank  to  the  floor  stunned,  horrified.  She  shuddered 
at  the  malignity  expressed  in  Miller's  words.  How  had  she 
e-rer  been  deceived  in  him  ?  He  was  in  league  with  Girty.  At 
heart  he  was  a  savage,  a  renegade.  Betty  went  over  his  words, 
one  by  one. 

"Your  white-faced  lover.  You  will  find  him  cold,"  whis 
pered  Betty.  "What  did  he  mean?" 

Then  came  the  thought.  Miller  had  murdered  Clarke. 
Betty  gave  one  agonized  quiver,  as  if  a  knife  had  been  thrust 
.Tnto  her  side,  and  then  her  paralyzed  limbs  recovered  the  power 
of  action.  She  flew  out  into  the  passage-way  and  pounded 
on  her  brother's  door, 


Betty    Zane 

"Eb!  Eb!  Get  up!  Quickly,  for  God's  sake!"  she  cried. 
A  smothered  exclamation,  a  woman's  quick  voice,  the  heavy 
thud  of  feet  striding  the  floor  followed  Betty's  alarm.  Then 
the  door  opened. 

"Hello,  Betts,  what's  up?"  said  Col.  Zane,  in  his  rapid 
voice. 

At  the  same  moment  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall  opened 
and  Isaac  came  out. 

"Eb,  Betty,  I  heard  voices  out  doers  and  in  the  house. 
What's  the  row?" 

"Oh,  Isaac !  Oh,  Eb !  Something  terrible  has  happened !" 
cried  Betty,  breathlessly. 

"Then  it  is  no  time  to  get  excited,"  said  the  Colonel,  calm 
ly.  He  placed  his  arm  round  Betty  and  drew  her  into  the 
room.  "Isaac,  get  down  the  rifles.  Now,  Betty,  time  is  pre 
cious.  Tell  me  quickly,  briefly." 

"I  was  awakened  by  a  stone  rolling  on  the  floor.  I  ran 
to  the  window  and  saw  a  man  by  the  fence.  He  came  under 
my  window  and  I  saw  it  was  Miller.  He  said  he  was  going 
to  join  Girty.  He  said  if  I  would  go  with  him  he  would  save 
the  lives  of  all  my  relatives.  If  I  would  not  they  would  all 
be  killed,  massacred,  burned  alive,  and  I  would  be  taken  away 
as  his  captive.  I  told  him  I'd  rather  die  before  I'd  go  with 
him.  Then  he  said  we  were  all  doomed,  and  that  ray  white- 
faced  lover  was  already  cold.  With  that  he  gave  a  laugh 
which  made  my  flesh  creep  and  ran  off  toward  the  river.  Oh ! 
he  has  murdered  Mr.  Clarke." 

"Hell !  What  a  fiend !"  cried  Col.  Zane,  hurriedly  getting 
into  his  clothes.  "Betts,  you  had  a  gun  in  there.  Why  didn't 
you  shoot  him?  Why  didn't  I  pay  more  attention  to  WetzelV 
advice  ?" 

"You  should  have  allowed  Clarke  to  kill  him  yesterday," 
said  Isaac.  "Like  as  not  he'll  have  Girty  here  with  a  lot  of 
howling  devils.  What's  to  be  done?" 

"I'll  send  Wetzel  after  him  and  that'll  soon  wind  up  his 
ball  of  yarn,"  answered  Col.  Zane. 

"Please — go — and  find— if  Mr.  Clarke " 

J4Yes,  Betty,  I'll  go  at  once.     You  must  not  lose  courage, 


Betty    Zane  £25 

Betty.     It's  quite  probable  that  Miller  has  killed  Alfred  and 
that  there's  worse  to  follow." 

"I'll  come,  Eb,  as  soon  as  I  have  told  Myeerah.  She  is 
scared  half  to  death,"  said  Isaac,  starting  for  the  door. 

"All  right,  only  Lurry,"  said  Col.  Zane,  grabbing  his  rifle. 
Without  wasting  more  words,  and  lacing  up  his  hunting  shirt 
as  he  went  he  ran  out  of  the  room. 

The  first  rays  of  dawn  came  streaking  in  at  the  window 
The  chill  gray  light  brought  no  cheer  with  its  herald  of  the 
I-V'J!  of  another  day.  For  what  might  the  morning  sun  dis- 
ciuae  ?  It  might  shine  on  a  long  line  of  painted  Indians.  The 
fresh  breeze  from  over  the  river  might  bring  the  long  war- 
whoop  of  the  savage. 

No  wonder  Noah  and  his  brother,  awakened  by  the  voice 
of  their  father,  sat  up  in  their  little  bed  and  looked  about  with 
frightened  eyes.  No  wonder  Mrs.  Zane's  face  blanched.  How 
many  times  she  had  seen  her  husband  grasp  his  rifle  and  run 
out  to  meet  danger ! 

"Bessie,"  said  Betty.  "If  it's  true  I  will  not  be  able  to  bear 
it.  It's  all  my  fault." 

"Nonsense!  You  heard  Eb  say  Miller  and  Clarke  had 
quarreled  before.  They  hated  each  other  before  they  ever 
saw  you." 

A  door  banged,  quick  footsteps  sounded  on  the  stairs,  and 
Isaac  came  rushing  into  the  room.  Betty,  deathly  pale,  stood 
with  her  hands  pressed  to  her  bosom,  and  looked  at  Isaac  with 
a  question  in  her  eyes  that  her  tongue  could  not  speak. 

"Betty,  Alfred's  badly  hurt,  but  he's  alive.     I  can  tell  you 
no  more  now,"  said  Isaac.     "Bessie,  bring  your  needle,  silk 
linen,  liniment — everything  you  need  for  a  bad  knife  wounds 
and  come  quickly." 

Betty's  haggard  face  changed  as  if  some  warm  light  had 
been  reflected  on  it;  her  lips  moved,  and  with  a  sob  of  thank 
fulness  she  fled  to  her  room. 

Two  hours  later,  while  Annie  was  serving  breakfast  to 
Betty  and  Myeerah,  Col.  Zane  strode  into  the  room. 

"Well,  one  has  to  eat  whatever  happens,"  he  said,  his 
clouded  face  brightening  somewhat.  "Betty,  there's  been 


Betty  Zane 

bad  work,  bad  work.  When  I  got  to  Clarke's  room  I  found 
him  lying  on  the  bed  with  a  knife  sticking  in  him.  A&  it  is 
we  are  doubtful  about  pulling  him  through." 

"May  I  see  him?"  whispered  Betty,  with  pale  lips, 

"If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst  I'll  take  you  OVCK  But 
it  would  do  no  good  now  and  would  surely  unnerve  you.  He 
still  has  a  fighting  chance." 

"Did  they  fight,  or  was  Mr.  Clarke  stabbed  in  his  sleep?" 

"Miller  climbed  into  Clarke's  window  and  knifed  him  in  the 
dark.  As  I  came  over  I  met  Wetzel  and  told  him  I  wanted 
him  to  trail  Miller  and  find  if  there  is  any  truth  in  his  threat 
about  Girty  and  the  Indians.  Sam  just  now  found  Tige  tied 
fast  in  the  fence  corner  back  of  the  barn.  That  explains  the 
mystery  of  Miller's  getting  so  near  the  house.  You  know 
he  always  took  pains  to  make  friends  with  Tige.  The  poor 
dog  was  helpless ;  his  legs  were  tied  and  his  jaws  bound  fast 
Oh,  Miller  is  as  cunning  as  an  Indian!  He  has  had  this  all 
planned  out,  and  he  has  had  more  than  one  arrow  to  his  bow. 
But,  if  I  mistake  not  he  has  shot  his  last  one." 

"Miller  must  be  safe  from  pursuit  by  this  time,"  said 
Betty. 

"Safe  for  the  present,  yes,"  answered  Col.  Zane,  "but  while 
Jonathan  and  Wetzel  live  I  would  not  give  a  snap  of  my 
fingers  for  Miller's  chances.  Hello,  I  hear  some  one  talking. 
I  sent  for  Jack  and  the  Major." 

The  Colonel  threw  open  the  door.  Wetzel,  Major  McCol- 
loch,  Jonathan  and  Silas  Zane  were  approaching.  They  were 
all  heavily  armed.  Wetzel  was  equipped  for  a  long  chase. 
Double  leggins  were  laced  round  his  legs.  A  buckskin  knap^ 
sack  was  strapped  to  his  shoulders. 

"Major,  I  want  you  and  Jonathan  to  watch  the  river,"  said 
Col.  Zane.  "Silas,  you  are  to  go  to  the  mouth  of  Yellow 
Creek  and  reconnoiter.  We  are  in  for  a  siege.  It  may  be 
twenty-four  hours  and  it  may  be  ten  days.  In  the  meantime 
I  will  get  the  Fort  in  shape  to  meet  the  attack.  Lewis,  you 
have  your  orders.  Have  you  anything  to  suggest?" 

"I'll  take  the  dog,"  answered  Wetzel.  "He'll  save  time  for 
me.  I'll  stick  to  Miller's  trail  and  find  Girtv's  forces.  I've 


Betty    Zane 

believed  all  along  that  Miller  was  helpin'  Girty,  and  I'm 
thinkin'  that  where  Miller  goes  there  I'll  find  Girty  and  his 
redskins.  If  it's  night  when  I  get  back  I'll  give  the  call  of 
the  hoot-owl  three  times,  quick,  so  Jack  and  the  Major  will 
know  I  want  to  get  back  acrost  the  river." 

"All  right,  Lewis,  we'H  be  expecting  you  any  time,"  said 
Col.  Zane. 

"Betty,  I'm  goin'  now  and  I  want  to  tell  you  somethin','* 
said  Wetzel,  as  Betty  appeared  in  the  door.  "Come  as  far  as 
the  end  of  the  path  with  me." 

"I'm  sorry  you  must  go.  But  Tige  seems  delighted,"  said 
Betty,  walking  beside  Wetzel,  while  the  dog  ran  on  before. 

"Betty,  I  wanted  to  tell  you  to  stay  close  like  to  the  house, 
fer  this  feller  Miller  has  been  layin'  traps  fer  you,  and  the 
Injuns  is  on  the  war-path.  Don't  ride  your  pony,  and  staj 
home  now." 

"Indeed,  I  shall  never  again  do  anything  as  foolish  as  I  did 
yesterday.  I  have  learned  my  lesson.  And  Oh !  Lew,  I  am  so 
grateful  to  you  for  saving  me.  When  will  you  return  to  the 
Fort?" 

"Mebbe  never,  Betty." 

"Oh,  no.  Don't  say  that.  I  know  all  this  Indian  talk 
will  blow  over,  as  it  always  does,  and  you  will  come  back  and 
everything  will  be  all  right  again." 

"I  hope  it'll  be  as  you  say,  Betty,  but  there's  no  tellin', 
there's  no  tellin'." 

"You  are  going  to  see  if  the  Indians  are  making  prepara 
tions  to  besiege  the  Fort?" 

"Yes,  I  am  goin'  fer  that.  And  if  I  happen  to  find  Millei 
on  my  way  I'll  give  him  Betty's  regards." 

Betty  shivered  at  his  covert  meaning.  Long  ago  in  a  mo 
ment  of  playfulness,  Betty  had  scratched  her  name  on  the 
hunter's  rifle.  Ever  after  that  Wetzel  called  his  fatal  weapon 
by  her  name. 

"If  you  were  going  simply  to  avenge  me  I  would  not  let 
you  go.  That  wretch  will  get  his  just  due  some  day,  never 
fear  for  that." 

"Betty,  'taint  likely  he'll  get  away  from  me,  and  if  he 


22^  Betty   Zane 

there's  Jonathan.  This  mornin'  when  we  trailed  Miller  down 
to  the  river  bank  Jonathan  points  acrost  the  river  and  says: 
'You  or  me,'  and  I  says :  'Me,'  so  it's  all  settled." 

"Will  Mr.  Clarke  live?"  said  Betty,  in  an  altered  tone,  ask 
ing  the  question  which  was  uppermost  in  her  mind. 

"I  think  so,  I  hope  so.  He's  a  husky  young  chap  and  the 
cut  wasn't  bad.  He  lost  so  much  blood.  That's  why  he'g  so 
weak.  If  he  gets  well  he'll  have  somethin'  to  tell  you." 

"Lew,  what  do  you  mean  ?"  demanded  Betty,  quickly. 

"Me  and  him  had  a  long  talk  last  night  and " 

"You  did  not  go  to  him  and  talk  of  me,  did  you?"  said 
Betty,  reproachfully. 

They  had  now  reached  the  end  of  the  path.  Wetzel 
stopped  and  dropped  the  butt  of  his  rifle  on  the  ground. 
Tige  looked  on  and  wagged  his  tail.  Presently  the  hunter 
spoke. 

"Yes,  we  talked  about  you." 

"Oh!  Lewis.  What  did — could  you  have  said?"  faltered 
Betty. 

"You  think  I  hadn't  ought  to  speak  to  him  of  you?" 

"I  do  not  see  why  you  should.  Of  course  you  are  my  good 
friend,  but  he — it  is  not  like  you  to  speak  of  me." 

"Fer  once  I  don't  agree  with  you.  I  knew  how  it  was  with 
him  so  I  told  him.  I  knew  how  it  was  with  you  so  I  told  him, 
and  I  know  how  it  is  with  me,  so  I  told  him  that  too." 

"With  you?"  whispered  Betty. 

"Yes,  with  me.  That  kind  of  gives  me  a  right,  don't  it, 
considerin'  it's  all  fer  your  happiness?" 

"With  you?"  echoed  Betty  in  a  low  tone.  She  was  begin 
ning  to  realize  that  she  had  not  known  this  man.  She  looked 
up  at  him.  His  eyes  were  misty  with  an  unutterable  sadness. 

"Oh,  no !  No !  Lew.  Say  it  is  not  true,"  she  cried,  pite- 
ously.  All  in  a  moment  Betty's  burdens  became  too  heavy 
for  her.  She  wrung  her  little  hands.  Her  brother's  kindly 
advice,  Bessie's  warnings,  and  old  Grandmother  Watkins' 
words  came  back  to  her.  For  the  first  time  she  believed  what 
they  said — that  Wetzel  loved  her.  All  at  once  the  scales  fell 
from  her  eyes  and  she  saw  this  man  as  he  really  was.  All  the 


Betty    Zane  229 

thousand  and  one  things  he  had  done  for  her,  his  simple  teach 
ing,  his  thoughtfulness,  his  faithfulness,  and  his  watchful 
protection — all  came  crowding  on  her  as  debts  that  she  could 
never  pay.  For  now  what  could  she  give  this  man  to  whom 
she  owed  more  than  her  life?  Nothing.  It  was  too  late.  Her 
love  could  have  reclaimed  him,  could  have  put  an  end  to  tha* 
solitary  wandering,  and  have  made  him  a  good,  happy  man. 

"Yes,  Betty,  it's  time  to  tell  it.  I've  loved  you  always," 
he  said  softly. 

She  covered  her  face  and  sobbed.  Wetzel  put  his  arm 
round  her  and  drew  her  to  him  until  the  dark  head  rested  on 
his  shoulder.  Thus  they  stood  a  moment. 

"Don't  cry,  little  one,"  he  said,  tenderly.  "Don't  grieve 
fer  me.  My  love  fer  you  has  been  the  only  good  in  my  life. 
It's  been  happiness  to  love  you.  Don't  think  of  me.  I  can 
see  you  and  Alfredj^in  a  happy  home,  sjorrounded  Jby  bright- 
eyed  children.  There'll  be  a  brave  lad  named  fer  me,  and 
when  I  come,  if  I  ever  do,  I'll  tell  him  stories,  and  learn  him 
the  secrets  of  the  woods,  and  how  to  shoot,  and  things  I  know 
so  well." 

"I  am  so  wretched — so  miserable.  To  think  I  have  been 
so — so  blind,  and  I  have  teased  you — and — it  might  have  been 
— only  now  it's  too  late,"  said  Betty,  between  her  sobs. 

"Yes,  I  know,  and  it's  better  so.  This  man  you  love  rings 
true.  He  has  learnin'  and  edication.  I  have  nothin'  but 
muscle  and  a  quick  eye.  And  that'll  serve  you  and  Alfred 
when  you  are  in  danger.  I'm  goin'  now.  Stand  here  till  I'm 
out  of  sight." 

"Kiss  me  goodbye,"  whispered  Betty. 

The  hunter  bent  his  head  and  kissed  her  on  the  brow.  Then 
he  turned  and  with  a  rapid  step  went  along  the  bluff  toward 
the  west.  When  he  reached  the  laurel  bushes  which  fringed 
the  edge  of  the  forest  he  looked  back.  He  saw  the  slender 
gray  clad  figure  standing  motionless  in  the  narrow  path.  He 
waved  his  hand  and  then  turned  and  plunged  into  the  forest. 
The  dog  looked  back,  raised  his  head  and  gave  a  long,  mourn 
ful  howl.  Then,  he  too  disappeared. 
\  A  mile  west  of  the  settlement  Wetzel  abandoned  the  forest 

J 


Betty  Z  ane 

and  picked  his  way  down  the  steep  bluff  to  the  river.  Here  he 
prepared  to  swim  to  the  western  shore.  He  took  off  his  buck 
skin  garments,  spread  them  out  on  the  ground,  placed  his 
knapsack  in  the  middle,  and  rolling  all  into  a  small  bundle 
tied  it  round  his  rifle.  Grasping  the  rifle  just  above  the  ham 
mer  he  waded  into  the  water  up  to  his  waist  and  then,  turning 
easily  on  his  back  he  held  the  rifle  straight  up,  allowing  the 
butt  to  rest  on  his  breast.  This  left  his  right  arm  unhamp 
ered.  With  a  powerful  back-arm  stroke  he  rapidly  swam  the 
river,  which  was  deep  and  narrow  at  this  point.  In  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  he  was  once  more  in  his  dry  suit. 

He  was  now  two  miles  below  the  island,  where  yesterday 
the  Indians  had  been  concealed,  and  where  this  morning  Miller 
had  crossed.  Wetzel  knew  Miller  expected  to  be  trailed,  and 
that  he  would  use  every  art  and  cunning  of  woodcraft  to  elude 
his  pursuers,  or  to  lead  them  into  a  death-trap.  Wetzel  be 
lieved  Miller  had  joined  the  Indians,  who  had  undoubtedly 
been  waiting  for  him,  or  for  a  signal  from  him,  and  that  he 
would  use  them  to  ambush  the  trail. 

Therefore  Wetzel  decided  he  would  try  to  strike  Miller's 
tracks  far  west  of  the  river.  He  risked  a  great  deal  in  at 
tempting  this  because  it  was  possible  he  might  fail  to  find  any 
trace  of  the  spy.  But  Wetzel  wasted  not  one  second.  His 
course  was  chosen.  With  all  possible  speed,  which  meant  with 
him  walking  only  when  he  could  not  run,  he  traveled  north 
west.  If  Miller  had  taken  the  direction  Wetzel  suspected,  the 
trails  of  the  two  men  would  cross  about  ten  miles  from  the 
Ohio.  But  the  hunter  had  not  traversed  more  than  a  mile  of 
the  forest  when  the  dog  put  his  nose  high  in  the  air  and 
growled.  Wetzel  slowed  down  into  a  walk  and  moved  cau 
tiously  onward,  peering  through  the  green  aisles  of  the  woods. 
A.  few  rods  farther  on  Tige  uttered  another  growl  and  put 
his  nose  to  the  ground.  He  found  a  trail.  On  examination 
Wetzel  discovered  in  the  moss  two  moccasin  tracks.  Two  In 
dians  had  passed  that  point  that  morning.  They  were  going 
northwest  directly  toward  the  camp  of  Wingenund.  Wetzel 
stuck  close  to  the  trail  all  that  day  and  an  hour  before  dusk 
he  heard  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle.  A  moment  afterward  a 


Betty    Zane 

doe  came  crashing  through  the  thicket  to  Wetzel's  right  and 
bounding  across  a  little  brook  she  disappeared. 

A  tree  with  a  bushy,  leafy  top  had  been  uprooted  by  a 
storm  and  had  fallen  across  the  stream  at  this  point.  Wetzel 
crawled  among  the  branches.  The  dog  followed  and  lay  down 
beside  him.  Before  darkness  set  in  Wetzel  saw  that  the  clear 
water  of  the  brook  had  been  roiled;  therefore,  he  concluded 
that  somewhere  upstream  Indians  had  waded  into  the  brook. 
Probably  they  had  killed  a  deer  and  were  getting  their  evening 
meal. 

Hours  passed.  Twilight  deepened  into  darkness.  One  by 
one  the  stars  appeared ;  then  the  crescent  moon  rose  over  the 
wooded  hill  in  the  west,  and  the  hunter  never  moved.  With 
his  head  leaning  against  the  log  he  sat  quiet  and  patient.  At 
midnight  he  whispered  to  the  dog,  and  crawling  from  his  hid 
ing  place  glided  stealthily  up  the  stream.  Far  ahead  from 
the  dark  depths  of  the  forest  peeped  the  flickering  light  of  a 
camp-fire.  Wetzel  consumed  a  half  hour  in  approaching  with 
in  one  hundred  feet  of  this  light.  Then  he  got  down  on  his 
hands  and  knees  and  crawled  behind  a  tree  on  top  of  the  little 
ridge  which  had  obstructed  a  view  of  the  camp  scene. 

From  this  vantage  point  Wetzel  saw  a  clear  space  sur 
rounded  by  pines  and  hemlocks.  In  the  center  of  this  glade 
a  fire  burned  briskly.  Two  Indians  lay  wrapped  in  their 
blankets,  sound  asleep.  Wetzel  pressed  the  dog  close  to  the 
ground,  laid  aside  his  rifle,  drew  his  tomahawk,  and  lying 
flat  on  his  breast  commenced  to  work  his  way,  inch  by  inch, 
toward  the  sleeping  savages.  The  tall  ferns  trembled  as  the 
hunter  wormed  his  way  among  them,  but  there  was  no  sound, 
not  a  snapping  of  a  twig  nor  a  rustling  of  a  leaf.  The  night- 
wind-sighed  softly  through  the  pines ;  it  blew  the  bright  sparks 
from  the  burning  logs,  and  fanned  the  embers  into  a  red 
glow;  it  swept  caressingly  over  the  sleeping  savages,  but  it 
could  not  warn  them  that  another  wind,  the  Wind-of-Death, 
was  near  at  hand. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed.  Nearer  and  nearer;  slowly 
but  surely  drew  the  hunter.  With  what  wonderful  patience 
and  self-control  did  this  cold-blooded  Nemesis  approach  his 


victims !  Probably  any  other  Indian  slayer  would  have  fired 
his  rifle  and  then  rushed  to  combat  with  a  knife  or  a  tomahawk. 
Not  so  Wetzel.  He  scorned  to  use  powder.  He  crept  forward 
like  a  snake  gliding  upon  its  prey.  He  slid  one  hand  in  front 
of  him  and  pressed  it  down  on  the  moss,  at  first  gently,  then 
firmly,  and  when  he  had  secured  a  good  hold  he  slowly 
dragged  his  body  forward  the  length  of  his  arm.  At  last 
his  dark  form  rose  and  stood  over  the  unconscious  Indians, 
like  a  minister  of  Doom.  The  tomahawk  flashed  once,  twice 
in  the  firelight,  and  the  Indians,  without  a  moan,  and  with  a 
convulsive  quivering  and  straightening  of  their  bodies,  passed 
from  the  tired  sleep  of  nature  to  the  eternal  sleep  of  death. 

Foregoing  his  usual  custom  of  taking  the  scalps,  Wetzel 
hurriedly  left  the  glade.  He  had  found  that  the  Indians  were 
Shawnees  and  he  had  expected  they  were  Delawares.  He  knew 
Miller's  red  comrades  belonged  to  the  latter  tribe.  The  pres 
ence  of  Shawnees  so  near  the  settlement  confirmed  his  belief 
that  a  concerted  movement  was  to  be  made  on  the  whites  in  the 
near  future.  He  would  not  have  been  surprised  to  find  the 
woods  full  of  redskins.  He  spent  the  remainder  of  that  night 
close  under  the  side  of  a  log  with  the  dog  curled  up  beside 
him. 

Next  morning  Wetzel  ran  across  the  trail  of  a  white  man 
and  six  Indians.  He  tracked  them  all  that  day  and  half  of 
the  night  before  he  again  rested.  By  noon  of  the  following 
day  he  came  in  sight  of  the  cliff  from  which  Jonathan  Zane 
had  watched  the  sufferings  of  Col.  Crawford.  Wetzel  now 
made  his  favorite  move,  a  wide  detour,  and  came  up  on  the 
other  side  of  the  encampment. 

From  the  top  of  the  bluff  he  saw  down  into  the  village  of 
the  Delawares.  The  valley  was  alive  with  Indians ;  they  were 
working  like  beavers ;  some  with  weapons,  some  painting  them 
selves,  and  others  dancing  war-dances.  Packs  were  being 
strapped  on  the  backs  of  ponies.  Everywhere  was  the  hurry 
and  bustle  of  the  preparation  for  war.  The  dancing  and  the 
singing  were  kept  up  half  the  night. 

At  daybreak  Wetzel  was  at  his  post.  A  little  after  sun 
rise  he  heard  a  long  yell  which  he  believed  announced  the  arri- 


Betty    Zane  233 

val  of  an  important  party.  And  so  it  turned  out.  Amid 
shrill  yelling  and  whooping,  the  like  of  which  Wetzel  had 
never  before  heard,  Simon  Girty  rode  into  Wingenund's  camp 
at  the  head  of  one  hundred  Shawnee  warriors  and  two  hun 
dred  British  Rangers  from  Detroit.  Wetzel  recoiled  when  he 
saw  the  red  uniforms  of  the  Britishers  and  their  bayonets. 
Including  Pipe's  and  Wingenund's  braves  the  total  force 
which  was  going  to  march  against  the  Fort  exceeded  six  hun 
dred.  An  impotent  frenzy  possessed  Wetzel  as  he  watched  the 
orderly  marching  of  the  Rangers  and  the  proud  bearing  of 
the  Indian  warriors.  Miller  had  spoken  the  truth.  Ft.  Henry 
was  doomed. 

"Tige,  there's  one  of  them  struttin'  turkey  cocks  as  won't 
see  the  Ohio,"  said  Wetzel  to  the  dog. 

Hurriedly  slipping  from  round  his  neck  the  bullet-pouch 
that  Betty  had  given  him,  he  shook  out  a  bullet  and  with  the 
point  of  his  knife  he  scratched  deep  in  the  soft  lead  the  letter 
W.  Then  he  cut  the  bullet  half  through.  This  done  he  de 
tached  the  pouch  from  the  cord  and  running  the  cord  through 
the  cut  in  the  bullet  he  bit  the  lead.  He  tied  the  string  round 
the  neck  of  the  dog  and  pointing  eastward  he  said :  "Home." 

The  intelligent  animal  understood  perfectly.  His  duty 
was  to  get  that  warning  home.  His  clear  brown  eyes  as  much 
as  said:  "I  will  not  fail."  He  wagged  his  tail,  licked  the 
hunter's  hand,  bounded  away  and  disappeared  in  the  forest. 

Wetzel  rested  easier  in  mind.  He  knew  the  dog  would  stop 
for  nothing,  and  that  he  stood  a  far  better  chance  of  reaching 
the  Fort  in  safety  than  did  he  himself. 

With  a  lurid  light  in  his  eyes  Wetzel  now  turned  to  the 
Indians.  He  would  never  leave  that  spot  without  sending  a 
leaden  messenger  into  the  heart  of  someone  in  that  camp. 
Glancing  on  all  sides  he  at  length  selected  a  place  where  it  was 
possible  he  might  approach  near  enough  to  the  camp  to  get  a 
shot.  He  carefully  studied  the  lay  of  the  ground,  the  trees, 
rocks,  bushes,  grass, — everything  that  could  help  screen  him 
from  the  keen  eye  of  savage  scouts.  When  he  had  marked 
his  course  he  commenced  his  perilous  descent.  In  an  hour  he 
had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  cliff.  Dropping  flat  on  the 


Betty   Zane 

ground,  he  once  more  started  his  snail-like  crawl.  A  stretch 
of  swampy  ground,  luxuriant  with  rushes  and  saw-grass,  made 
a  part  of  the  way  easy  for  him,  though  it  led  through  mud, 
and  slime,  and  stagnant  water.  Frogs  and  turtles  warming 
their  backs  in  the  sunshine  scampered  in  alarm  from  their  logs. 
Lizards  blinked  at  him.  Moccasin  snakes  darted  wicked 
forked  tongues  at  him  and  then  glided  out  of  reach  of  his 
tomahawk.  The  frogs  had  stopped  their  deep  bass  notes.  A 
swamp-blackbird  rose  in  fright  from  her  nest  in  the  saw-grass, 
and  twittering  plaintively  fluttered  round  and  round  over  the 
pond.  The  flight  of  the  bird  worried  Wetzel.  Such  little 
things  as  these  might  attract  the  attention  of  some  Indian 
scout.  But  he  hoped  that  in  the  excitement  of  the  war  prep 
arations  these  unusual  disturbances  would  escape  notice.  At 
last  he  gained  the  other  side  of  the  swamp.  At  the  end  of  the 
cornfield  before  him  was  the  clump  of  laurel  which  he  had 
marked  from  the  cliff  as  his  objective  point.  The  Indian 
corn  was  now  about  five  feet  high.  Wetzel  passed  through 
this  field  unseen.  He  reached  the  laurel  bushes,  where  he 
idropped  to  the  ground  and  lay  quiet  a  few  minutes.  In  the 
dash  which  he  would  soon  make  to  the  forest  he  needed  all  his 
breath  and  all  his  fleetness.  He  looked  to  the  right  to  see 
how  far  the  woods  was  from  where  he  lay.  Not  more  than 
one  hundred  feet.  He  was  safe.  Once  in  the  dark  shade  of 
those  trees,  and  with  his  foes  behind  him,  he  could  defy  the 
whole  race  of  Dela wares.  He  looked  to  his  rifle,  freshened 
the  powder  in  the  pan,  carefully  adjusted  the  flint,  and  then 
rose  quietly  to  his  feet. 

Wetzel's  keen  gaze,  as  he  swept  it  from  left  to  right,  took 
in  every  detail  of  the  camp.  He  was  almost  in  the  village. 
A  tepee  stood  not  twenty  feet  from  his  hiding-place.  He 
could  have  tossed  a  stone  in  the  midst  of  squaws,  and  braves, 
and  chiefs.  The  main  body  of  Indians  was  in  the  center  of 
the  camp.  The  British  were  lined  up  further  on.  Both  In 
dians  and  soldiers  were  resting  on  their  arms  and  waiting. 
Suddenly  Wetzel  started  and  his  heart  leaped.  Under  a 
maple  tree  not  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  distant  stood  four 
men  in  earnest  consultation.  One  was  an  Indian.  Wetzel 


Betty    Zane  £35 

recognized  the  fierce,  stern  face,  the  haughty,  erect  figure. 
He  knew  that  long,  trailing  war-bonnet.  It  could  have 
adorned  the  head  of  but  one  chief — Wingenund,  the  sachem 
of  the  Delawares.  A  British  officer,  girdled  and  epauletted, 
stood  next  to  Wingenund.  Simon  Girty,  the  renegade,  and 
Miller,  the  traitor,  completed  the  group. 

Wetzel  sank  to  his  knees.  The  perspiration  poured  from 
his  face.  The  mighty  hunter  trembled,  but  it  was  from  eag 
erness.  Was  not  Girty,  the  white  savage,  the  bane  of  the 
poor  settlers,  within  range  of  a  weapon  that  never  failed? 
Was  not  the  murderous  chieftain,  who  had  once  whipped  and 
tortured  him,  who  had  burned  Crawford  alive,  there  in  plain 
sight?  Wetzel  revelled  a  moment  in  fiendish  glee.  He  passed 
his  hands  tenderly  over  the  long  barrel  of  his  rifle.  In  that 
moment  as  never  before  he  gloried  in  his  power — a  power 
which  enabled  him  to  put  a  bullet  in  the  eye  of  a  squirrel  at 
the  distance  these  men  were  from  him.  But  only  for  an  in 
stant  did  the  hunter  yield  to  this  feeling.  He  knew  too  well 
the  value  of  time  and  opportunity. 

He  rose  again  to  his  feet  and  peered  out  from  under  the 
shading  laurel  branches.  As  he  did  so  the  dark  face  of  Miller 
turned  full  toward  him.  A  tremor,  like  the  intense  thrill  of  a 
tiger  when  he  is  about  to  spring,  ran  over  Wetzel's  frame. 
In  his  mad  gladness  at  being  within  rifle-shot  of  his  great  In 
dian  foe,  Wetzel  had  forgotten  the  man  he  had  trailed  for  two 
days.  He  had  forgotten  Miller.  He  had  only  one  shot — 
and  Betty  was  to  be  avenged.  He  gritted  his  teeth.  The 
Delaware  chief  was  as  safe  as  though  he  were  a  thousand  miles 
away.  This  opportunity  for  which  Wetzel  had  waited  so 
many  years,  and  the  successful  issue  of  which  would  have 
gone  so  far  toward  the  fulfillment  of  a  life's  purpose, 
was  worse  than  useless.  A  great  temptation  assailed  the 
hunter. 

Wetzel's  face  was  white  when  he  raised  the  rifle;  his  dark 
eye,  gleaming  vengefully,  ran  along  the  barrel.  The  little 
bead  on  the  front  sight  first  covered  the  British  officer,  and 
then  the  broad  breast  of  Girty.  It  moved  reluctantly  and 
searched  out  the  heart  of  Wingenund,  where  it  lingered  for  a 


236  Betty   Zane 

fleeting  instant.  At  last  it  rested  upon  the  swarthy  face  of 
Miller. 

"Fer  Betty,"  muttered  the  hunter,  between  his  clenched 
teeth  as  he  pressed  the  trigger. 

The  spiteful  report  awoke  a  thousand  echoes.  When  the 
shot  broke  the  stillness  Miller  was  talking  and  gesticulating. 
His  hand  dropped  inertly ;  he  stood  upright  for  a  second,  his 
head  slowly  bowing  and  his  body  swaying  perceptibly.  Then 
he  plunged  forward  like  a  log,  his  face  striking  the  sand.  He 
never  moved  again.  He  was  dead  even  before  he  struck  the 
ground. 

Blank  silence  followed  this  tragic  denouement.  Wingenund, 
a  cruel  and  relentless  Indian,  but  never  a  traitor,  pointed  to 
the  small  bloody  hole  in  the  middle  of  Miller's  forehead,  and 
then  nodded  his  head  solemnly.  The  wondering  Indians  stood 
aghast.  Then  with  loud  yells  the  braves  ran  to  the  cornfield ; 
they  searched  the  laurel  bushes.  But  they  only  discovered 
several  moccasin  prints  in  the  sand,  and  a  puff  of  white  smoke 
wafting  away  upon  the  summer  breeze. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

.'LFRED  CLARKE  lay  between  life  and 
death.  Miller's  knife-thrust,  although 
it  had  made  a  deep  and  dangerous 
wound,  had  not  pierced  any  vital  part ; 
the  amount  of  blood  lost  made  Alfred's 
condition  precarious.  Indeed,  he  would 
not  have  lived  through  that  first  day 
but  for  a  wonderful  vitality.  Col. 
Zane's  wife,  to  whom  had  been  con 
signed  the  delicate  task  of  dressing  the 
wound,  shook  her  head  when  she  first  saw  the  direction  of  the 
cut.  She  found  on  a  closer  examination  that  the  knife-blade 
had  been  deflected  by  a  rib,  and  had  just  missed  the  dungs. 
The  wound  was  bathed,  sewed  up,  and  bandaged,  and  the 
greatest  precaution  taken  to  prevent  the  sufferer  from  loosen 
ing  the  linen.  Every  day  when  Mrs.  Zane  returned  from  the 
bedside  of  the  young  man  she  would  be  met  at  the  door  by 
Betty,  who,  in  that  time  of  suspense,  had  lost  her  bloom,  and 
whose  pale  face  showed  the  effects  of  sleepless  nights. 

"Betty,  would  you  mind  going  over  to  the  Fort  and  re 
lieving  Mrs.  Martin  an  hour  or  two?"  said  Mrs.  Zane  one  day 
as  she  came  home,  looking  worn  and  weary.  "We  are  both 
tired  to  death,  and  Nell  Metzar  was  unable  to  come.  Clarke 
is  unconscious,  and  will  not  know  you,  besides  he  is  sleeping 


now.': 


Betty  hurried  over  to  Capt.  Boggs'  cabin,  next  the  block 
house,  where  Alfred  lay,  and  with  a  palpitating  heart  and  a 
trepidation  wholly  out  of  keeping  with  the  brave  front  she 
managed  to  assume,  she  knocked  gently  on  the  door. 

"Ah,  Betty,  'tis  you,  bless  your  heart,"  said  a  matronly 
little  woman  who  opened  the  door.  "Come  right  in.  He  is 
sleeping  now,  poor  fellow,  and  it's  the  first  real  sleep  he  has 
had.  He  has  been  raving  crazy  forty-eight  hours." 

"Mrs.  Martin,  what  shall  I  do?"  whispered  Betty. 

"Oh,  just  watch  him,  my  dear,"  answered  the  elder  woman. 

237 


238  Betty   Zane 

"If  you  need  me  send  one  of  the  lads  up  to  the  house  for  me. 
I  shall  return  as  soon  as  I  can.  Keep  the  flies  away — they 
are  bothersome — and  bathe  his  head  every  little  while.  If  he 
wakes  and  tries  to  sit  up,  as  he  does  sometimes,  hold  him  back. 
He  is  as  weak  as  a  cat.  If  he  raves,  soothe  him  by  talking  to 
him.  I  must  go  now,  dearie." 

Betty  was  left  alone  in  the  little  room.  Though  she  had 
taken  a  seat  near  the  bed  where  Alfred  lay,  she  had  not  dared 
to  look  at  him.  Presently  conquering  her  emotion,  Betty 
turned  her  gaze  on  the  bed.  Alfred  was  lying  easily  on  his 
back,  and  notwithstanding  the  warmth  of  the  day  he  was 
covered  with  a  quilt.  The  light  from  the  window  shone  on 
his  face.  How  deathly  white  it  was !  There  was  not  a  vestige 
of  color  in  it ;  the  brow  looked  like  chiseled  marble ;  dark  shad 
ows  underlined  the  eyes,  and  the  whole  face  was  expressive  of 
weariness  and  pain. 

There  are  times  when  a  woman's  love  is  all  motherliness. 
All  at  once  this  man  seemed  to  Betty  like  a  helpless  child.  She 
felt  her  heart  go  out  to  the  poor  sufferer  with  a  feeling  before 
unknown.  She  forgot  her  pride  and  her  fears  and  her  disap 
pointments.  She  remembered  only  that  this  strong  man  lay 
there  at  death's  door  because  he  had  resented  an  insult  to  her. 
The  past  with  all  its  bitterness  rolled  away  and  was  lost,  and 
in  its  place  welled  up  a  tide  of  forgiveness  strong  and  sweet 
and  hopeful.  Her  love,  like  a  fire  that  had  been  choked  and 
smothered,  smouldering  but  never  extinct,  and  which  blazes  up 
with  the  first  breeze;  warmed  and  quickened  to  life  with  the 
touch  of  her  hand  on  his  forehead. 

An  hour  passed.  Betty  was  now  at  her  ease  and  happier 
than  she  had  been  for  months.  Her  patient  continued  to  sleep 
peacefully  and  dreamlessly.  With  a  feeling  of  womanly  curi 
osity  Betty  looked  around  the  room.  Over  the  rude  mantel 
piece  were  hung  a  sword,  a  brace  of  pistols,  and  two  pic 
tures.  These  last  interested  Betty  very  much.  They  were 
portraits ;  one  of  them  was  a  likeness  of  a  sweet-faced  woman 
who  Betty  instinctively  knew  was  his  mother.  Her  eyes  lin 
gered  tenderly  on  that  face,  so  like  the  one  lying  on  the  pillow. 
The  other  portrait  was  of  a  beautiful  girl  whose  dark,  mag- 


Betty    Zane  239 

netic  eyes  challenged  Betty.  Was  this  his  sister  or— someone 
else?  She  could  not  restrain  a  jealous  twinge,  and  she  felt 
annoyed  to  find  herself  comparing  that  face  with  her  own. 
She  looked  no  longer  at  that  portrait,  but  recommenced  her 
survey  of  the  room.  Upon  the  door  hung  a  broad-brimmed 
hat  with  eagle  plumes  stuck  in  the  band.  A  pair  of  high- 
topped  riding-boots,  a  saddle,  and  a  bridle  lay  on  the  floor  in 
the  corner.  The  table  was  covered  with  Indian  pipes,  tobacco 
pouches,  spurs,  silk  stocks,  and  other  articles. 

Suddenly  Betty  felt  that  some  one  was  watching  her.  She 
turned  timidly  toward  the  bed  and  became  much  frightened 
when  she  encountered  the  intense  gaze  from  a  pair  of  steel-blue 
eyes.  She  almost  fell  from  the  chair ;  but  presently  she  recol 
lected  that  Alfred  had  been  unconscious  for  days,  and  that  he 
would  not  know  who  was  watching  by  his  bedside. 

"Mother,  is  that  you?"  asked  Alfred,  in  a  weak,  low 
voice. 

"Yes,  I  am  here,"  answered  Betty,  remembering  the  old 
woman's  words  about  soothing  the  sufferer. 

"But  I  thought  you  were  ill." 

"I  was,  but  I  am  better  now,  and  it  is  you  who  are  ill." 

"My  head  hurts  so." 

"Let  me  bathe  it  for  you." 

"How  long  have  I  been  home?" 

Betty  bathed  and  cooled  his  heated  brow.  He  caught  and 
held  her  hands,  looking  wonderingly  at  her  the  while. 

"Mother,  somehow  I  thought  you  had  died.  I  must  have 
dreamed  it.  I  am  very  happy;  but  tell  me,  did  a  message 
come  for  me  to-day?" 

Betty  shook  her  head,  for  she  could  not  speak.  She  saw 
he  was  living  in  the  past,  and  he  was  praying  for  the  letter 
which  she  would  gladly  have  written  had  she  but  known. 

"No  message,  and  'it  is  now  so  long." 

"It  will  come  to-morrow,"  whispered  Betty. 

"Now,  mother,  that  is  what  you  always  say,"  said  the  in 
valid,  as  he  began  to  toss  his  head  wearily  to  and  fro.  "Will 
she  never  tell  me?  It  is  not  like  her  to  keep  me  in  suspense. 
She  was  the  sweetest,  truest,  loveliest  girl  in  all  the  world. 


240  Betty   Zane 

When  I  get  well,  mother,  I  am  going  to  find  out  if  she 
loves  me.'* 

"I  am  sure  she  does.  I  know  she  loves  you,"  answered 
Betty  softly. 

"It  is  very  good  of  you  to  say  that,"  he  went  on  in  his 
rambling  talk.  "Some  day  I'll  bring  her  to  you  and  we'll 
make  her  a  queen  here  in  the  old  home.  I'll  be  a  better  son 
now  and  not  run  away  from  home  again.  I've  given  the  dear 
old  mother  many  a  heartache,  but  that's  all  past  now.  The 
wanderer  has  come  home.  Kiss  me  good-night,  mother." 

Betty  looked  down  with  tear-blurred  eyes  on  the  haggard 
face.  Unconsciously  she  had  been  running  her  fingers 
through  the  fair  hair  that  lay  so  damp  over  his  brow.  Her 
pity  and  tenderness  had  carried  her  far  beyond  herself,  and 
at  the  last  words  she  bent  her  head  and  kissed  .him  on  the  lips. 

"Who  are  you?  You  are  not  my  mother.  She  is  dead," 
he  cried,  starting  up  wildly,  and  looking  at  her  with  brilliant 
eyes. 

Betty  dropped  the  fan  and  rose  quickly  to  her  feet.  What 
had  she  done?  A  terrible  thought  had  flashed  into  her  mind. 
Suppose  he  were  not  delirious,  and  had  been  deceiving  her. 
Oh!  for  a  hiding-place,  or  that  the  floor  would  swallow  her. 
Oh!  if  some  one  would  only  come. 

Footsteps  sounded  on  the  stairs  and  Betty  ran  to  the  door. 
To  her  great  relief  Mrs.  Martin  was  coming  up. 

"You  can  run  home  now,  there's  a  dear,"  said  the  old  lady. 
"We  have  several  watchers  for  to-night.  It  will  not  be  long 
now  when  he  will  commence  to  mend,  or  else  he  will  die.  Poor 
boy,  please  God  that  he  gets  well.  Has  he  been  good?  Did 
he  call  for  any  particular  young  lady?  Never  fear,  Betty, 
I'll  keep  the  secret.  He'll  never  know  you  were  here  unless 
you  tell  him  yourself." 

Meanwhile  the  days  had  been  busy  ones  for  Col.  Zane.  In 
anticipation  of  an  attack  from  the  Indians,  the  settlers  had 
been  fortifying  their  refuge  and  making  the  block-house  as 
nearly  impregnable  as  possible.  Everything  that  was  mov 
able  and  was  of  value  they  put  inside  the  stockade  fence,  out 
of  reach  of  the  destructive  redskins.  All  the  horses  and  cattle 


Betty    Zane  2 U 

were  driven  into  the  inclosure.  Wagon-loads  of  hay,  grain 
and  food  were  stored  away  in  the  block-house. 

Never  before  had  there  been  such  excitement  on  the  frontier. 
Runners  from  Ft.  Pitt,  Short  Creek,  and  other  settlements 
confirmed  the  rumor  that  all  the  towns  along  the  Ohio  were 
preparing  for  war.  Not  since  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolu 
tion  had  there  been  so  much  confusion  and  alarm  among  the 
pioneers.  To  be  sure,  those  on  the  very  verge  of  the  frontier, 
as  at  Ft.  Henry,  had  heretofore  little  to  fear  from  the  British. 
During  most  of  this  time  there  had  been  comparative  peace  on 
the  western  border,  excepting  those  occasional  murders,  raids, 
and  massacres  perpetrated  by  the  different  Indian  tribes,  and 
instigated  no  doubt  by  Girty  and  the  British  at  Detroit.  Now 
all  kinds  of  rumors  were  afloat:  Washington  was  defeated;  a 
close  alliance  between  England  and  the  confederated  western 
tribes  had  been  formed;  Girty  had  British  power  and  wealth 
back  of  him.  These  and  many  more  alarming  reports  trav 
elled  from  settlement  to  settlement. 

The  death  of  Col.  Crawford  had  been  a  terrible  shock  to 
the  whole  county.  On  the  border  spread  an  universal  gloom, 
and  the  low,  sullen  mutterings  of  revengeful  wrath.  Craw 
ford  had  been  so  prominent  a  man,  so  popular,  and,  except 
in  his  last,  and  fatal  expedition,  such  an  efficient  leader  that  his 
sudder  taking  off  was  almost  a  national  calamity.  In  fact  no 
one  felt  it  more  keenly  than  did  Washington  himself,  for 
Crawford  was  his  esteemed  friend. 

Col.  Zane  believed  Ft.  Henry  had  been  marked  by  the  Brit 
ish  and  the  Indians.  The  last  runner  from  Ft.  Pitt  had  in 
formed  him  that  Mie  description  of  Miller  tallied  with  that  of 
one  of  the  ten  men  who  had  deserted  from  Ft.  Pitt  in  1778 
with  the  tories  Girty,  McKee,  and  Elliott.  Col.  Zane  was 
now  satisfied  that  Miller  was  an  agent  of  Girty  and  therefore 
of  the  British.  So  since  all  the  weaknesses  of  the  Fort,  the 
number  of  the  garrison,  and  the  favorable  conditions  for  a 
siege  were  known  to  Girty,  there  was  nothing  left  for  Col. 
Zane  and  his  men  but  to  make  a  brave  stand.* 

Jonathan  Zane  and  Major  McCclloch  watched  the  river. 
Wetzel  had  disappeared  as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed  him. 


Betty   Zane 

Some  pioneers  said  he  would  never  return.  But  Col.  Zane 
believed  Wetzel  would  walk  into  the  Fort,  as  he  had  done  many 
times  in  the  last  ten  years,  with  full  information  concerning 
the  doings  of  the  Indians.  However,  the  days  passed  and 
nothing  happened.  Their  work  completed,  the  settlers  waited 
for  the  first  sign  of  an  enemy.  But  as  none  came,  gradually 
their  fears  were  dispelled  and  they  began  to  think  the  alarm 
had  been  a  false  one. 

All  this  time  Alfred  Clarke  was  recovering  his  health  and 
strength.  The  day  came  when  he  was  able  to  leave  his  bed 
and  sit  by  the  window.  How  glad  it  made  him  feel  to  look 
out  on  the  green  woods  and  the  broad,  winding  river;  how 
sweet  to  his  ears  were  the  songs  of  the  birds ;  how  soothing  was 
the  drowsy  hum  of  the  bees  in  the  fragrant  honeysuckle  by  his 
window.  His  hold  on  life  had  been  slight  and  life  was  good. 
He  smiled  in  pitying  derision  as  he  remembered  his  reckless 
ness.  He  had  not  been  in  love  with  life.  In  his  gloomy 
moods  he  had  often  thought  life  was  hardly  worth  the  living. 
What  sickly  sentiment!  He  had  been  on  the  brink  of  the 
grave,  but  he  had  been  snatched  back  from  the  dark  river  of 
Death.  It  needed  but  this  to  show  him  the  joy  of  breathing, 
the  glory  of  loving,  the  sweetness  of  living.  He  resolved  that 
for  him  there  would  be  no  more  drifting,  no  more  purposeless- 
ness.  If  what  Wetzel  had  told  him  was  true,  if  he  really  had 
not  loved  in  vain,  then  his  cup  of  happiness  was  overflowing. 
Like  a  far-off  and  almost  forgotten  strain  of  music  some 
memory  struggled  te  take  definite  shape  in  his  mind;  but  it 
was  so  hazy,  so  vague,  so  impalpable,  that  he  could  remember 
nothing  clearly. 

Isaac  Zane  and  his  Indian  bride  called  on  Alfred  that  after 
noon. 

"Alfred,  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  up 
again,"  said  Isaac,  earnestly,  as  he  wrung  Alfred's  hand. 
"Say,  but  it  was  a  tight  squeeze!  It  has  been  a  bad  time 
for  you." 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  pleasing  than  Myeerah's  shy 
yet  eloquent  greeting.  She  gave  Alfred  her  little  hand  and 
said  in  her  figurative  style  of  speaking,  "Myeerah  is  happy 


Betty    Zane 

for  you  and  for  others.  You  are  strong  like  the  West  Wind 
that  never  dies." 

"Myeerah  and  I  are  going  this  afternoon,  and  we  came  over 
to  say  good-bye  to  you.  We  intend  riding  down  the  river 
fifteen  miles  and  then  crossing,  to  avoid  running  into  any  band 
of  Indians." 

"And  how  does  Myeerah  like  the  settlement  by  this  time?" 

"Oh,  she  is  getting  on  famously.  Betty  and  she  have  fallen 
in  love  with  each  other.  It  is  amusing  to  hear  Betty  try  to 
talk  in  the  Wyandot  tongue,  and  to  see  Myeerah's  consterna 
tion  when  Betty  gives  her  a  lesson  in  deportment." 

"I  rather  fancy  it  would  be  interesting,  too.  Are  you  not 
going  back  to  the  Wyandots  at  a  dangerous  time?" 

"As  to  that  I  can't  say.  I  believe,  though,  it  is  better  that 
I  get  back  to  Tarhe's  camp  before  we  have  any  trouble  with 
the  Indians.  I  am  anxious  to  get  there  before  Girty  or  some 
of  his  agents." 

"Well,  if  you  must  go,  good  luck  to  you,  and  may  we  meet 
again." 

"It  will  not  be  long,  I  am  sure.  And,  old  man,"  he  con 
tinued,  with  a  bright  smile,  "when  Myeerah  and  I  come  again 
to  Ft.  Henry  we  expect  to  find  all  well  with  you.  Cheer  up, 
and  good-bye." 

All  the  preparations  had  been  made  for  the  departure  of 
Isaac  and  Myeerah  to  their  far-off  Indian  home.  They  were 
to  ride  the  Indian  ponies  on  which  they  had  arrived  at  the 
Fort.  Col.  Zane  had  given  Isaac  one  of  his  pack  horses. 
This  animal  carried  blankets,  clothing,  and  food  which  in 
sured  comparative  comfort  in  the  long  ride  through  tl}t 
wilderness. 

"We  will  follow  the  old  trail  until  we  reach  the  hickory 
swale,"  Isaac  was  saying  to  the  Colonel,  "and  then  we  will  turn 
off  and  make  for  the  river.  Once  across  the  Ohio  we  can  make 
the  trip  in  two  days." 

"I  think  you'll  make  it  all  right,"  said  Col.  Zane. 

"Even  if  I  do  meet  Indians  I  shall  have  no  fear,  for  I  have 
a  protector  here,"  answered  Isaac  as  he  led  Myeerah's  ponjr 
•^p  to  the  step. 


244  Betty   Zane 

"Good-bye,  Myeerah;  he  is  yours,  but  do  not  forget  he  is 
dear  to  us,"  said  Betty,  embracing  and  kissing  the  Indian  girl. 

"My  sister  does  not  know  Myeerah.  The  White  Eagle  will 
return." 

"Good-bye,  Betts,  don't  cry.  I  shall  come  home  again. 
And  when  I  do  I  hope  I  shall  be  in  time  to  celebrate  another 
event,  this  time  with  you  as  the  heroine.  Good-bye.  Good- 
bye." 

The  ponies  cantered  down  the  road.  At  the  bend  Isaac  and 
Myeerah  turned  and  waved  their  hands  until  the  foliage  of 
the  trees  hid  them  from  view. 

"Well,  these  things  happen  naturally  enough.  I  suppose 
they  must  be.  But  I  should  much  have  preferred  Isaac  stay 
ing  here.  Hello !  What  the  deuce  is  that  ?  By  Lord !  It's 
Tige!" 

The  exclamation  following  Col.  Zane's  remarks  had  been 
called  forth  by  Betty's  dog.  He  came  limping  painfully  up 
the  road  from  the  direction  of  the  river.  When  he  saw  Col. 
Zane  he  whined  and  crawled  to  the  Colonel's  feet.  The  dog 
was  wet  and  covered  with  burrs,  and  his  beautiful  glossy  coat, 
which  had  been  Betty's  pride,  was  dripping  with  blood. 

"Silas,  Jonathan,  come  here,"  cried  Col.  Zane.  "Here's 
Tige,  back  without  Wetzel,  and  the  poor  dog  has  been  shot  al 
most  to  pieces.  What  does  it  mean?" 

"Indians,"  said  Jonathan,  coming  out  of  the  house  with 
Silas,  and  Mrs.  Zane  and  Betty,  who  had  heard  the  Colonel's 
call. 

"He  has  come  a  long  way.  Look  at  his  feet.  They  are 
torn  and  bruised,"  continued  Jonathan.  "And  he  has  been 
near  Wingenund's  camp.  You  see  that  red  clay  on  his  paws. 
There  is  no  red  clay  that  I  know  of  round  here,  and  there  are 
miles  of  it  this  side  of  the  Delaware  camp." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Tige?"  asked  Betty. 

"He  is  done  for.  Shot  through,  poor  fellow.  How  did  he 
ever  reach  home?"  said  Silas. 

"Oh,  I  hope  not !  Dear  old  Tige,"  said  Betty  as  she  knelt 
and  tenderly  placed  the  head  of  the  dog  in  her  lap.  "Why, 
what  is  this?  I  never  put  that  there.  Eb,  Jack,  look  here. 


Betty    Zane  245 

There  is  a  string  around  his  neck,"  and  Betty  pointed  ex 
citedly  to  a  thin  cord  which  was  almost  concealed  in  the  thick 
curly  hair. 

"Good  gracious !  Eb,  look !  It  is  the  string  off  the  prize 
bullet  pouch  I  made,  and  that  Wetzel  won  on  Isaac's  wedding- 
day.  It  is  a  message  from  Lew,"  said  Betty. 

"Well,  by  Heavens !  This  is  strange.  So  it  is.  I  remem 
ber  that  string.  Cut  it  off,  Jack,"  said  Col.  Zane. 

When  Jonathan  had  cut  the  string  and  held  it  up  they  all 
saw  the  lead  bullet.  Col.  Zane  examined  it  and  showed  them 
what  had  been  rudely  scratched  on  it. 

"A  letter  W.     Does  that  mean  Wetzel?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"It  means  war.  It's  a  warning  from  Wetzel — not  the 
slightest  doubt  of  that,"  said  Jonathan.  "Wetzel  sends  this 
because  he  knows  we  are  to  be  attacked,  and  because  there  must 
have  been  great  doubt  of  his  getting  back  to  tell  us.  And 
Tige  has  been  shot  on  his  way  home." 

This  called  the  attention  to  the  dog,  which  had  been  mo 
mentarily  forgotten.  His  head  rolled  from  Betty's  knee;  a 
quiver  shook  his  frame ;  he  struggled  to  rise  to  his  feet,  but  his 
strength  was  too  far  spent;  he  crawled  close  to  Betty's  feet; 
his  eyes  looked  up  at  her  with  almost  human  affection;  then 
they  closed,  and  he  lay  still.  Tige  was  dead. 

"It  is  all  over,  Betty.  Tige  will  romp  no  more.  He  will 
never  be  forgotten,  for  he  was  faithful  to  the  end.  Jonathan, 
tell  the  Major  of  Wetzel's  warning,  and  both  of  you  go  back 
to  your  posts  on  the  river.  Silas,  send  Capt.  Boggs  to  me." 

An  hour  after  the  death  of  Tige  the  settlers  were  waiting 
for  the  ring  of  the  meeting-house  bell  to  summon  them  to  the 
Fort. 

Supper  at  Col.  Zane's  that  night  was  not  the  occasion  of 
good-humored  jest  and  pleasant  conversation.  Mrs.  Zane's 
face  wore  a  distressed  and  troubled  look ;  Betty  was  pale  and 
quiet;  even  the  Colonel  was  gloomy;  and  the  children,  missing 
the  usual  cheerfulness  of  the  evening  meal,  shrank  close  to 
their  mother. 

Darkness  slowly  settled  down ;  and  with  it  Came  a  feeling 
of  relief,  at  least  for  the  night,  for  the  Indians  Barely  attacked 


Betty   Zane 

the  settlements  after  dark.  Capt.  Boggs  came  over  and  he 
and  Col.  Zane  conversed  in  low  tones. 

"The  first  thing  in  the  morning  I  want  you  to  ride  over  to 
Short  Creek  for  reinforcements.  I'll  send  the  Major  also  and 
by  a  different  route.  I  expect  to  hear  tonight  from  Wetzel. 
Twelve  times  has  he  crossed  that  threshold  with  the  informa 
tion  which  made  an  Indian  surprise  impossible.  And  I  feel 
sure  he  will  come  again." 

"What  was  that?"  said  Betty,  who  was  sitting  on  the  door 
step. 

"Sh-h !"  whispered  Col.  Zane,  holding  up  his  finger. 

The  night  was  warm  and  still.  In  the  perfect  quiet  which 
followed  the  Colonel's  whispered  exclamation  the  listeners 
heard  the  beating  of  their  hearts.  Then  from  the  river  bank 
came  the  cry  of  an  owl ;  low  but  clear  it  came  floating  to  their 
ears,  its  single  melancholy  note  thrilling  them.  Faint  and  far 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  island  sounded  the  answer. 

"I  knew  it.  I  told  you.  We  shall  know  all  presently,'* 
said  Col.  Zane.  "The  first  call  was  Jonathan's,  and  it  was 
answered." 

The  moments  dragged  away.  The  children  had  fallen 
asleep  on  the  bearskin  rug.  Mrs.  Zane  and  Betty  had  heard 
the  Colonel's  voice,  and  sat  with  white  faces,  waiting,  waiting 
for  they  knew  not  what. 

A  familiar,  light-moccasined  tread  sounded  on  the  path,  a 
tall  figure  loomed  up  from  the  darkness ;  it  came  up  the  path, 
passed  up  the  steps,  and  crossed  the  threshold. 

"Wetzel!"  exclaimed  Col.  Zane  and  Capt.  Boggs.  It  was 
indeed  the  hunter.  How  startling  was  his  appearance !  The 
buckskin  hunting  coat  and  leggins  were  wet,  torn  and  bespat 
tered  with  mud ;  the  water  ran  and  dripped  from  him  to  form 
little  muddy  pools  on  the  floor;  only  his  rifle  and  powder  horn 
were  dry.  His  face  was  ghastly  white  except  where  a  bullet 
wound  appeared  on  his  temple,  from  which  the  blood  had  oozed 
down  over  his  cheek.  An  unearthly  light  gleamed  from  his 
eyes.  In  that  moment  Wetzel  was  an  appalling  sight. 

"Col.  Zane,  I'd  been  here  days  before,  but  I  run  into  some 
Shawnees,  and  they  gave  me  a  hard  chase.  I  have  to  report 


Betty    Zane 

that  Girty,  with  four  hundred  Injuns  and  two  hundred  Brit 
ishers,  are  on  the  way  to  Ft.  Henry." 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  Col.  Zane.  Strong  man  as  he  was 
the  hunter's  words  had  unnerved  him. 

The  loud  and  clear  tone  of  the  church-bell  rang  out  on  the 
still  night  air.  Only  once  it  sounded,  but  it  reverberated 
among  the  hills,  and  its  single  deep-toned  ring  was  like  a  knell. 
The-  listeners  almost  expected  to  hear  it  followed  by  the  fear 
ful  war-cry,  that  cry  which  betokened  for  many  desolation 
and  death. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


ORNING  found  the  settlers, 
with  the  exception  of 
Col.  Zane,  his  brother 
Jonathan,  the  negro 
Sam,  and  Martin  Wet- 
zel,  all  within  the  Fort. 
Col.  Zane  had  deter 
mined,  long  before,  that 
in  the  event  of  another 
siege,  he  would  use  his 
house  as  an  outpost.  Twice  it  had  been  destroyed  by  fire  at 
the  hands  of  the  Indians.  Therefore,  surrounding  himself 
by  these  men,  who  were  all  expert  marksmen,  Col.  Zane  re 
solved  to  protect  his  property  and  at  the  same  time  render 
valuable  aid  to  the  Fort. 

Early  that  morning  a  pirogue  loaded  with  cannon  balls, 
from  Ft.  Pitt  and  bound  for  Louisville,  had  arrived  and  Cap 
tain  Sullivan,  with  his  crew  of  three  men,  had  demanded  admit 
tance.  In  the  absence  of  Capt.  Boggs  and  Major  McColloch, 
both  of  whom  had  been  dispatched  for  reinforcements,  Col. 
Zane  had  placed  his  brother  Silas  in  command  of  the  Fort. 
Sullivan  informed  Silas  that  he  and  his  men  had  been  fired  on 
by  Indians  and  that  they  sought  the  protection  of  the  Fort. 
The  services  of  himself  and  men,  which  he  volunteered,  were 
gratefully  accepted. 

All  told,  the  little  force  in  the  block-house  did  not  exceed 
forty-two,  and  that  counting  the  boys  and  the  women  who 
could  handle  rifles.  The  few  preparations  had  been  completed 
and  now  the  settlers  were  awaiting  the  appearance  of  the 
enemy.  Few  words  were  spoken.  The  children  were  secured 
where  they  would  be  o,ut  of  the  way  of  flying  bullets.  They 
were  huddled  together  silent  and  frightened;  pale-faced 
but  resolute  women  passed  up  and  down  the  length  of  the 
block-house;  some  carried  buckets  of  water  and  baskets 
of  food;  others  were  tearing  bandages;  grim- faced  men 

249 


850  Betty   Zane 

peered  from  the  portholes ;  all  were  listening  for  the  war-cry. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait.  Before  noon  the  well-known 
whoop  came  from  the  wooded  shore  of  the  river,  and  it  was 
soon  followed  by  the  appearance  of  hundreds  of  Indians. 
The  river,  which  was  low,  at  once  became  a  scene  of  great  ani 
mation.  From  a  placid,  smoothly  flowing  stream  it  was  turned 
into  a  muddy,  splashing,  turbulent  torrent.  The  mounted 
warriors  urged  their  steeds  down  the  bank  and  into  the  water; 
the  unmounted  improvised  rafts  and  placed  their  weapons  and 
ammunition  upon  them;  then  they  swam  and  pushed,  kicked 
and  yelled  their  way  across;  other  Indians  swam,  holding  the 
bridles  of  the  pack-horses.  A  detachment  of  British  soldiers 
followed  the  Indians.  In  an  hour  the  entire  army  appeared 
on  the  river  bluff  not  three  hundred  yards  from  the  Fort. 
They  were  in  no  hurry  to  begin  the  attack.  Especially  did 
the  Indians  seem  to  enjoy  the  lull  before  the  storm,  and  as 
they  stalked  to  and  fro  in  plain  sight  of  the  garrison,  or  stood 
in  groups  watching  the  Fort,  they  were  seen  in  all  their  hid 
eous  war-paint  and  formidable  battle-array.  They  were  ex 
ultant.  Their  plumes  and  eagle  feathers  waved  proudly  in 
the  morning  breeze.  Now  and  then  the  long,  peculiarly  bro 
ken  yell  of  the  Shawnees  rang  out  clear  and  strong.  The 
soldiers  were  drawn  off  to  one  side  and  well  out  of  range  of  the 
settlers'  guns.  Their  red  coats  and  flashing  bayonets  were 
new  to  most  of  the  little  band  of  men  in  the  block-house. 

"Ho,  the  Fort!" 

It  was  a  strong,  authoritative  voice  and  came  from  a  man 
mounted  on  a  black  horse. 

"Well,  Girty,  what  is  it?"  shouted  Silas  Zane. 

"We  demand   unconditional   surrender,"   was   the   answer, 

"You  will  never  get  it,"  replied  Silas. 

"Take  more  time  to  think  it  over.  You  see  we  have  a  force 
here  large  enough  to  take  the  Fort  in  an  hour." 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,"  shouted  some  one  through  a 
porthole. 

An  hour  passed.  The  soldiers  and  the  Indians  lounged 
around  on  the  grass  and  walked  to  and  fro  on  the  bluff.  At 
intervals  a  taunting  Indan  yell,  horrible  in  its  suggestiveness, 


Betty    Zane  251 

came  floating  on  the  air.  When  the  hour  was  up  three 
mounted  men  rode  out  in  advance  of  the  waiting  Indians. 
One  was  clad  in  buckskin,  another  in  the  uniform  of  a  British 
officer,  and  the  third  was  an  Indian  chief  whose  powerful  form 
was  naked  except  for  his  buckskin  belt  and  leggins. 

"Will  you  surrender?"  came  in  the  harsh  and  arrogant 
voice  of  the  renegade. 

"Never !    Go  back  to  your  squaws !"  yelled  Sullivan. 

"I  am  Capt.  Pratt  of  the  Queen's  Rangers.  If  you  surren 
der  I  will  give  you  the  best  protection  King  George  affords," 
shouted  the  officer. 

"To  hell  with  King  George !  Go  back  to  your  hair-buying 
Hamilton  and  tell  him  the  whole  British  army  could  not  make 
us  surrender,"  roared  Hugh  Bennet. 

"If  you  do  not  give  up,  the  Fort  will  be  attacked  and 
burned.  Your  men  will  be  massacred  and  your  women  given 
to  the  Indians,"  said  Girty. 

"You  will  never  take  a  man,  woman  or  child  alive,"  yelled 
Silas.  "We  remember  Crawford,  you  white  traitor,  and  we 
are  not  going  to  give  up  to  be  butchered.  Come  on  with  your 
red- jackets  and  your  red-devils.  We  are  ready." 

"We  have  captured  and  killed  the  messenger  you  sent  out, 
and  now  all  hope  of  ouccor  must  be  abandoned.  Your  doom 
is  sealed." 

"What  kind  of  a  man  was  he?"  shouted  Sullivan. 

"A  fine,  active  young  fellow,"  answered  the  outlaw. 

"That's  a  lie,"  snapped  Sullivan,  "he  was  an  old,  gray- 
haired  man." 

As  the  officer  and  the  outlaw  chief  turned,  apparently  to 
consult  their  companion,  a  small  puff  of  white  smoke  shot 
forth  from  one  of  the  portholes  of  the  block-house.  It  was 
followed  by  the  ringing  report  of  a  rifle.  The  Indian  chief 
clutched  wildly  at  his  breast,  fell  forward  on  his  horse,  and  af 
ter  vainly  trying  to  keep  his  seat,  slipped  to  the  ground.  He 
raised  himself  once,  then  fell  backward  and  lav  still.  Full  two 

*/ 

hundred  yards  was  not  proof  against  Wetzel's  deadly  small 
bore,  and  Red  Fox,  the  foremost  war  chieftain  of  the  Shaw- 
nees,  lay  dead,  a  victim  to  the  hunter's  vengeance.  It  was 


Betty   Zanc 

characteristic  of  Wetzel  that  he  picked  the  chief,  for  he  could 
have  shot  either  the  British  officer  or  the  renegade.  They 
retreated  out  of  range,  leaving  the  body  of  the  chief  where 
it  had  fallen,  while  the  horse,  giving  a  frightened  snort,  gal 
loped  toward  the  woods.  Wetzel's  yell  coming  quickly  after 
his  shot,  excited  the  Indians  to  a  very  frenzy,  and  they  started 
on  a  run  for  the  Fort,  discharging  their  rifles  and  screeching 
like  so  many  demons. 

In  the  cloud  of  smoke  which  at  once  enveloped  the  scene  the 
Indians  spread  out  and  surrounded  the  Fort.  A  tremendous 
rush  by  a  large  party  of  Indians  was  made  for  the  gate  of  the 
Fort.  They  attacked  it  fiercely  with  their  tomahawks,  and 
a  log  which  they  used  as  a  battering-ram.  But  the  stout 
gate  withstood  their  united  efforts,  and  the  galling  fire  from 
the  portholes  soon  forced  them  to  fall  back  and  seek  cover  be 
hind  the  trees  and  the  rocks.  From  these  points  of  vantage 
they  kept  up  an  uninterrupted  fire. 

The  soldiers  had  made  a  dash  at  the  stockade-fence,  yelling 
derision  at  the  small  French  cannon  which  was  mounted  on 
top  of  the  block-house.  They  thought  it  a  "dummy"  because 
they  had  learned  that  in  the  1777  siege  the  garrison  had  no 
real  cannon,  but  had  tried  to  utilize  a  wooden  one.  They 

/  " 

yelled  and  hooted  and  mocked  at  this  piece  and  dared  the  gar 
rison  to  fire  it.  Sullivan,  who  was  in  charge  of  the  cannon, 
bided  his  time.  When  the  soldiers  were  massed  closely  to 
gether  and  making  another  rush  for  the  stockade-fence  Sulli 
van  turned  loose  the  little  "bulldog,"  spreading  consternation 
and  destruction  in  the  British  ranks. 

"Stand  back !  Stand  back !"  Capt.  Pratt  was  heard  to  yell. 
"By  God !  there's  no  wood  about  that  gun." 

After  this  the  besiegers  withdrew  for  a  breathing  spell.  At 
this  early  stage  of  the  siege  the  Indians  were  seen  to  board 
Sullivan's  pirogue,  and  it  was  soon  discovered  they  were  carry 
ing  the  cannon  balls  from  the  boat  to  the  top  of  the  bluff.  In 
their  simple  minds  they  had  conceived  a  happy  thought. 
They  procured  a  white-oak  log  probably  a  foot  in  diameter, 
split  it  through  the  middle  and  hollowed  out  the  inside  with 
their  tomahawks.  Then  with  iron  chains  and  bars,  which 


Betty    Z  a  n  e  253 

they  took  from  Reihart's  blacksmith  shop,  they  bound  and  se 
curely  fastened  the  sides  together.  They  dragged  the  impro 
vised  cannon  nearer  to  the  Fort,  placed  it  on  two  logs  and 
weighted  it  down  with  stones.  A  heavy  charge  of  powder  and 
ball  was  then  rammed  into  the  wooden  gun.  The  soldiers, 
though  much  interested  in  the  manoeuvre,  moved  back  to  a  safe 
distance,  while  many  of  the  Indians  crowded  round  the  new 
weapon.  The  torch  was  applied;  there  was  a  red  flash — 
boom !  The  hillside  was  shaken  by  the  tremendous  explosion, 
and  when  the  smoke  lifted  from  the  scene  the  naked  forms  of 
the  Indians  could  be  seen  writhing  in  agony  on  the  ground. 
Not  a  vestige  of  the  wooden  gun  remained.  The  iron  chains 
had  proved  terrible  death-dealing  missiles  to  the  Indians  near 
the  gun.  The  Indians  now  took  to  their  natural  methods  of 
warfare.  They  hid  in  the  long  grass,  in  the  deserted  cabins, 
behind  the  trees  and  up  in  the  branches.  Not  an  Indian  was 
visible,  but  the  rain  of  bullets  pattered  steadily  against  the 
block-house.  Every  bush  and  every  tree  spouted  little  puffs 
of  white  smoke,  and  the  leaden  messengers  of  Death  whistled 
through  the  air. 

After  another  unsuccessful  eifort  to  destroy  a  section  of  the 
stockade-fence  the  soldiers  had  retired.  Their  red  jackets 
made  them'  a  conspicuous  mark  for  the  sharp-eyed  settlers. 
Capt.  Pratt  had  been  shot  through  the  thigh.  He  suffered 
great  pain,  and  was  deeply  chagrined  by  the  surprising  and 
formidable  defense  of  the  garrison  which  he  had  been  led  to 
believe  would  fall  an  easy  prey  to  the  King's  soldiers.  He 
had  lost  one-third  of  his  men.  Those  who  were  left  refused 
to  run  straight  in  the  face  of  certain  death.  They  had  not 
been  drilled  to  fight  an  unseen  enemy.  Capt.  Pratt  was  com 
pelled  to  order  a  retreat  to  the  river  bluff,  where  he  conferred 
with  Girty. 

Inside  the  block-house  was  great  activity,  but  no  confusion. 
That  little  band  of  fighters  might  have  been  drilled  for  a 
king's  bodyguard.  Kneeling  before  each  porthole  on  the 
river  side  of  the  Fort  was  a  man  who  would  fight  while  there 
was  breath  left  in  him.  He  did  not  discharge  his  weapon 
aimlessly  as  the  Indians  did,  but  waited  until  he  saw  the  out- 


254 

line  of  an  Indian  form,  or  a  red  coat,  or  a  puff  of  white  smoke ; 
then  he  would  thrust  the  rifle-barrel  forward,  take  a  quick  aim 
and  fire.  By  the  side  of  every  man  stood  a  heroic  woman 
whose  face  was  blanched,  but  who  spoke  never  a  word  as  she 
put  the  muzzle  of  the  hot  rifle  into  a  bucket  of  water,  cooled 
the  barrel,  wiped  it  dry  and  passed  it  back  to  the  man  be 
side  her. 

Silas  Zane  had  been  wounded  at  the  first  fire.  A  glancing 
ball  had  struck  him  on  the  head,  inflicting  a  painful  scalp 
wound.  It  was  now  being  dressed  by  Col.  Zane's  wife,  whose 
skilled  fingers  were  already  tired  with  the  washing  and  the 
bandaging  of  the  injuries  received  by  the  defenders.  In  all 
ihat  horrible  din  of  battle ;  the  shrill  yells  of  the  savages,  the 
hoarse  shouts  of  the  settlers,  the  boom  of  the  cannon  overhead^ 
the  cracking  of  rifles  and  the  whistling  of  bullets ;  in  all  that 
din  of  appalling  noise,  and  amid  the  stifling  smoke,  the  smell 
of  burned  powder,  the  sickening  sight  of  the  desperately 
wounded  and  the  already  dead,  the  Colonel's  brave  wife  had 
never  faltered.  She  was  here  and  there ;  binding  the  wounds, 
helping  Lydia  and  Betty  mould  bullets,  encouraging  the  men9 
and  by  her  example,  enabling  those  women  to  whom  border 
war  was  new  to  bear  up  under  the  awful  strain. 

Sullivan,  who  had  been  on  top  of  the  block-house,  came 
down  the  ladder  almost  without  touching  it.  Blood  was  run 
ning  down  his  bare  arm  and  dripping  from  the  ends  of  his 
fingers. 

"Zane,  Martin  has  been  shot,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "The 
same  Indian  who  shot  away  these  fingers  did  it.  The  bullets 
seem  to  come  from  some  elevation.  Send  some  scout  up  there 
and  find  out  where  that  damned  Indian  is  hiding." 

"Martin  shot?  God,  his  poor  wife!  Is  he  dead?"  said 
Silas. 

"Not  yet.  Bennet  is  bringing  him  down.  Here,  I  want 
this  hand  tied  up,  so  that  my  gun  won't  be  so  slippery." 

Wetzel  was  seen  stalking  from  one  porthole  to  another. 
His  fearful  yell  sounded  above  all  the  others.  He  seemed  to 
bear  a  charmed  life,  for  not  a  bullet  had  so  much  as  scratched 
him.  Silas  communicated  to  him  what  Sullivan  had  said. 


Betty    Zane  255 

The  hunter  mounted  the  ladder  and  went  up  on  the  roof.  Soon 
he  reappeared,  descended  into  the  room  and  ran  into  the  west 
end  of  the  block-house.  He  kneeled  before  a  porthole  through 
which  he  pushed  the  long  black  barrel  of  his  rifle.  Silas  and 
Sullivan  followed  him  and  looked  in  the  direction  indicated  by 
his  weapon.  It  pointed  toward  the  bushy  top  of  a  tall  poplar 
tree  which  stood  on  the  hill  west  of  the  Fort.  Presently  a  lit 
tle  cloud  of  white  smoke  issued  from  the  leafy  branches,  and  it 
was  no  sooner  seen  than  Wetzel's  rifle  was  discharged.  There 
was  a  great  commotion  among  the  leaves,  the  branches  swayed! 
and  thrashed,  and  then  a  dark  body  plunged  downward  to 
strike  on  the  rocky  slope  of  the  bluff  and  roll  swiftly  out  of 
sight.  The  hunter's  unnatural  yell  pealed  out. 

"Great  God !  The  man's  crazy,"  cried  Sullivan,  staring  at 
Wetzel's  demon-like  face. 

"No,  no.     It's  his  way,"  answered  Silas. 

At  that  moment  the  huge  frame  of  Bennet  filled  up  the 
opening  in  the  roof  and  started  down  the  ladder.  In  one 
arm  he  carried  the  limp  body  of  a  young  man.  When  he 
reached  the  floor  he  laid  the  body  down  and  beckoned  to  Mrs. 
Zane.  Those  watching  saw  that  the  young  man  was  Will 
Martin,  and  that  he  was  still  alive.  But  it  was  evident  that 
he  had  not  long  to  live.  His  face  had  a  leaden  hue  and  his 
eyes  were  bright  and  glassy.  Alice,  his  wife,  flung  herself  on 
her  knees  beside  him  and  tenderly  raised  the  drooping  head. 
No  words  could  express  the  agony  in  her  face  as  she  raised  it 
to  Mrs.  Zane.  In  it  was  a  mute  appeal,  an  unutterable  prayer 
for  hope.  Mrs.  Zane  turned  sorrowfully  to  her  task.  There 
was  no  need  of  her  skill  here.  Alfred  Clarke,  who  had  been 
ordered  to  take  Martin's  place  on  top  of  the  block-house, 
paused  a  moment  in  silent  sympathy.  When  he  saw  that  little 
hole  in  the  bared  chest,  from  which  the  blood  welled  up  in  an 
awful  stream,  he  shuddered  and  passed  on.  Betty  looked  up 
from  her  work  and  then  turned  away  sick  and  faint.  Her 
mute  lips  moved  as  if  in  prayer. 

Alice  was  left  alone  with  her  dying  husband.  She  tenderly 
supported  his  head  on  her  bosom,  leaned  her  face  against  his 
and  kissed  the  cold,  numb  lips.  She  murmured  into  his  al- 


256  Betty   Zane 

ready  deaf  ear  the  old  tender  names.  He  knew  her,  for  he 
made  a  feeble  effort  to  pass  his  arm  round  her  neck.  A  smile 
illumined  his  face.  Then  death  claimed  him.  With  wild, 
distended  eyes  and  with  hands  pressed  tightly  to  her  temples 
Alice  rose  slowly  to  her  feet. 

"Oh,  God !     Oh,  God !"  she  cried. 

Her  prayer  was  answered.  In  a  momentary  lull  in  the  bat 
tle  was  heard  the  deadly  hiss  of  a  bullet  as  it  sped  through 
one  of  the  portholes.  It  ended  with  a  slight  sickening  spat 
as  the  lead  struck  the  flesh.  Then  Alice,  without  a  cry,  fell 
on  the  husband's  breast.  Silas  Zane  found  her  lying  dead 
with  the  body  of  her  husband  clasped  closely  in  her  arms.  He 
threw  a  blanket  over  them  and  went  on  his  wearying  round 

of  the  bastions. 

********* 

The  besiegers  had  been  greatly  harassed  and  hampered  by 
the  continual  fire  from  Col.  Zane's  house.  It  was  exceedingly 
difficult  for  the  Indians,  and  impossible  for  the  British,  tc 
approach  near  enough  to  the  Colonel's  house  to  get  an  effec 
tive  shot.  Col.  Zane  and  his  m^ri  had  the  advantage  of  being 
on  higher  ground.  Also  they  had  four  rifles  to  a  man,  and 
they  used  every  spare  moment  for  reloading.  Thus  they  were 
enabled  to  pour  a  deadly  fire  into  the  ranks  of  the  enemy,  and 
to  give  the  impression  of  being  much  stronger  in  force  than 
they  really  were. 

About  dusk  the  firing  ceased  and  the  Indians  repaired  to 
the  river  bluff.  Shortly  afterward  their  camp-fires  were  ex 
tinguished  and  all  became  dark  and  quiet.  Two  hours  passed. 
Fortunately  the  clouds,  which  had  at  first  obscured  the  moon, 
cleared  away  somewhat,  and  enough  light  was  shed  on  the 
scene  to  enable  the  watchers  to  discern  objects  near  by. 

Col.  Zane  had  just  called  together  his  men  for  a  conference. 
He  suspected  some  cunning  deviltry  on  part  of  the  Indians. 

"Sam,  take  what  stuff  to  eat  you  can  lay  your  hands  on  and 
go  up  to  the  loft.  Keep  a  sharp  lookout  and  report  anything 
to  Jonathan  or  me,"  said  the  Colonel. 

All  afternoon  Jonathan  Zane  had  loaded  and  fired  his  rifles 
in  sullen  and  dogged  determination.  He  had  burst  one  rifle 


B  5 1 1  y    Z  a  n  e  251 

and  disabled  another.  The  other  men  were  fine  marksmen,  but 
it  was  undoubtedly  Jonathan's  unerring  aim  that  made  the 
house  so  unapproachable.  He  used  an  extremely  heavy,  large 
bore  rifle.  In  the  hands  of  a  man  strong  enough  to  stand 
its  fierce  recoil  it  was  a  veritable  cannon.  The  Indians  had 
soon  learned  to  respect  the  range  of  that  rifle,  and  they  gave 
the  cabin  a  wide  berth. 

But  now  that  darkness  had  enveloped  the  valley  the  advan 
tage  lay  with  the  savages.  Col.  Zane  glanced  apprehensively 
at  the  blackened  face  of  his  brother. 

"Do  you  think  the  Fort  can  hold  out?"  he  asked  in  a  husky 
voice.  He  was  a  bold  man,  but  he  thought  now  of  his  wife 
and  children. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Jonathan.  "I  saw  that  big 
Shawnee  chief  today.  His  name  is  Fire.  He  is  well  named. 
He  is  a  fiend.  Girty  has  a  picked  band." 

"The  Fort  has  held  out  surprisingly  well  against  such  com 
bined  and  fierce  attacks.  The  Indians  are  desperate.  You 
can  easily  see  that  in  the  way  in  which  they  almost  threw 
their  lives  away.  The  green  square  is  covered  with  dead 
Indians." 

"If  help  does  not  come  in  twenty-four  hours  not  one  man 
will  escape  alive.  Even  Wetzel  could  not  break  through  that 
line  of  Indians.  But  if  we  can  hold  the  Indians  off  a  day 
longer  they  will  get  tired  and  discouraged.  Girty  will  not  be 
able  to  hold  them  much  longer.  The  British  don't  count.  It's 
not  their  kind  of  war.  They  can't  shoot,  and  so  far  as  I  can 
see  they  haven't  done  much  damage." 

"To  your  posts,  men,  and  every  man  think  of  the  women 
and  children  in  the  block -house." 

For  a  lon^  time,  which  seemed  hours  to  the  waiting  and 
watching  settlers,  not  a  sound  could  be  heard,  nor  any  sign 
of  the  enemT/  seen.  Thin  clouds  had  again  drifted  over  the 
moon,  allow/ng  only  a  pale,  wan  light  to  shine  down  on  the 
valley.  Time  dragged  on  and  the  clouds  grew  thicker  and 
denser  until  the  moon  and  the  stars  were  totally  obscured, 
Still  no  sign  or  sound  of  the  savages. 

"What  was  that?"  suddenly  whispered  Col.  Zane. 


258  Betty 

"It  was  a  low  whistle  from  Sam.  We'd  better  go  up,"  said 
Jonathan. 

They  went  up  the  stairs  to  the  second  floor  from  which  they 
ascended  to  the  loft  by  means  of  a  ladder.  The  loft  was  as 
black  as  pitch.  In  that  Egyptian  darkness  it  was  no  use  to 
look  for  anything,  so  they  crawled  on  their  hands  and  knees 
over  the  piles  of  hides  and  leather  which  lay  on  the  floor, 
iWlien  they  reached  the  small  window  they  made  out  the  form 
of  the  negro. 

"What  is  it,  Sam?'*  whispered  Jonathan. 

"Look,  see  thar,  Massa  Zane,"  came  the  answer  in  a  hoarse 
whisper  from  the  negro  and  at  the  same  time  he  pointed  down 
toward  the  ground. 

Col.  Zane  put  his  head  alongside  Jonathan's  and  all  three 
men  peered  out  into  the  darkness. 

"Jack,  can  you  see  anything?"  said  Col.  Zane. 

"No,  but  wait  a  minute  until  the  moon  throws  a  light." 

A  breeze  had  sprung  up.  The  clouds  were  passing  rapidly 
over  the  moon,  and  at  long  intervals  a  rift  between  the  clouds 
let  enough  light  through  to  brighten  the  square  for  an  in 
stant. 

"Now,  Massa  Zane,  thar !"  exclaimed  the  slave. 

"I  can't  see  a  thing.     Can  you,  Jack  ?" 

"I  am  not  sure  yet.  I  can  see  something,  but  whether  it  is 
a  log  or  not  I  don't  know." 

Just  then  there  was  a  faint  light  like  the  brightening  of  a 
firefly,  or  like  the  blowing  of  a  tiny  spark  from  a  stick  of  burn 
ing  wood.  Jonathan  uttered  a  low  curse. 

"D n  'em !  At  their  old  tricks  with  fire.  I  thought  all 

this  quiet  meant  something.  The  grass  out  there  is  full  of 
Indians,  and  they  are  carrying  lighted  arrows  under  them  so 
as  to  cover  the  light.  But  we'll  fool  the  red  devils  this  time." 

"I  can  see  'em,  Massa  Zane." 

"Sh-h-h !  no  more  talk,"  whispered  Col.  Zane. 

The  men  waited  with  cocked  rifles.  Another  spark  rose 
seemingly  out  of  the  earth.  This  time  it  was  nearer  the  house. 
No  sooner  had  its  feeble  light  disappeared  than  the  report  of 
the  negro's  rifle  awoke  the  sleeping  echoes.  It  was  succeeded 


Betty    Zane  £59 

by  a  yell  which  seemed  to  come  from  under  the  window.  Sev 
eral  dark  forms  rose  so  suddenly  that  they  appeared  to  spring 
out  of  the  ground.  Then  came  the  peculiar  twang  of  Indian 
bows.  There  were  showers  of  sparks  and  little  streaks  of  fire 
with  long  tails  like  comets  winged  their  parabolic  flight  toward 
the  cabin.  Falling  short  they  hissed  and  sputtered  in  the 
grass.  Jonathan's  rifle  spoke  and  one  of  the  fleeing  forms 
tumbled  to  the  earth.  A  series  of  long  yells  from  all  around 
the  Fort  greeted  this  last  shot,  but  not  an  Indian  fired  a  rifle. 

Fire-tipped  arrows  were  now  shot  at  the  block-house,  but 
not  one  took  effect,  although  a  few  struck  the  stockade-fence. 
Col.  Zane  had  taken  the  precaution  to  have  the  high  grass  and 
the  clusters  of  goldenrod  cut  down  all  round  the  Fort.  The 
wisdom  of  this  course  now  became  evident,  for  the  wily  sav 
ages  could  not  crawl  near  enough  to  send  their  fiery  arrows 
on  the  roof  of  the  block-house.  This  attempt  failing,  the 
Indians  drew  back  to  hatch  up  some  other  plot  to  burn  the 
Fort. 

"Look !"  suddenly  exclaimed  Jonathan. 

Far  down  the  road,  perhaps  five  hundred  yards  from  the 
Fort,  a  point  of  light  had  appeared.  At  first  it  was  still,  and 
then  it  took  an  odd  jerky  motion,  to  this  side  and  to  that,  up 
and  down  like  a  jack-o-lantern. 

"What  the  hell?"  muttered  Col.  Zane,  sorely  puzzled. 
"Jack,  by  all  that's  strange  it's  getting  bigger." 

Sure  enough  the  spark  of  fire,  or  whatever  it  was,  grew 
larger  and  larger.  Col.  Zane  thought  it  might  be  a  light 
carried  by  a  man  on  horseback.  But  if  this  were  true  where 
was  the  clatter  of  the  horse's  hoofs?  On  that  rocky  bluff  no 
horse  could  run  noiselessly.  It  could  not  be  a  horse.  Fasci 
nated  and  troubled  by  this  new  mystery  which  seemed  to  pre 
sage  evil  to  them  the  watchers  waited  with  that  patience  known 
only  to  those  accustomed  to  danger.  They  knew  that  what 
ever  it  was,  it  was  some  satanic  stratagem  of  the  savages,  and 
that  it  would  come  all  too  soon. 

The  light  was  now  zigzagging  back  and  forth  across  the 
7oad,  and  approaching  the  Fort  with  marvelous  rapidity. 
Now  its  motion  was  like  the  wide  swinging  of  a  lighted  lantern 


260  Betty    Zane 

on  a  dark  night.  A  moment  more  of  breathless  suspense  and 
the  lithe  form  of  an  Indian  brave  could  be  seen  behind  the 
light.  He  was  running  with  almost  incredible  swiftness  down 
the  road  in  the  direction  of  the  Fort.  Passing  at  full  speed 
within  seventy-five  yards  of  the  stockade- fence  the  Indian  shot 
his  arrow.  Like  a  fiery  serpent  flying  through  the  air  the  mis 
sile  sped  onward  in  its  graceful  flight,  going  clear  over  the 
block-house,  and  striking  with  a  spiteful  thud  the  roof  of  one 
of  the  cabins  beyond.  Unhurt  by  the  volley  that  was  fired  at 
him,  the  daring  brave  passed  swiftly  out  of  sight. 

Deeds  like  this  were  dear  to  the  hearts  of  the  savages.  They 
were  deeds  which  made  a  warrior  of  a  brave,  and  for  which 
honor  any  Indian  would  risk  his  life  over  and  over  again.  The 
exultant  yells  which  greeted  this  performance  proclaimed  its 
success. 

The  breeze  had  already  fanned  the  smouldering  arrow  into 
a  blaze  and  the  dry  roof  of  the  cabin  had  caught  fire  and  was 
burning  fiercely. 

"That  infernal  redskin  is  going  to  do  that  again,"  ejacu 
lated  Jonathan. 

It  was  indeed  true.  That  same  small  bright  light  could 
be  seen  coming  down  the  road  gathering  headway  with  every 
second.  No  doubt  the  same  Indian,  emboldened  by  his  suc 
cess,  and  maddened  with  that  thirst  for  glory  so  often  fatal  to 
his  kind,  was  again  making  the  effort  to  fire  the  block-house. 

The  eyes  of  Col.  Zane  and  his  companions  were  fastened 
on  the  light  as  it  came  nearer  and  nearer  with  its  changing 
motion.  The  burning  cabin  brightened  the  square  before  the 
Fort.  The  slender,  shadowy  figure  of  the  Indian  could  be 
plainly  seen  emerging  from  the  gloom.  So  swiftly  did  he  run 
that  he  seemed  to  have  wings.  Now  he  was  in  the  full  glare 
of  the  light.  What  a  magnificent  nerve,  what  a  terrible  assur 
ance  there  was  in  his  action !  It  seemed  to  paralyze  all.  The 
red  arrow  emitted  a  shower  of  sparks  as  it  was  discharged. 
This  time  it  winged  its  way  straight  and  true  and  imbedded 
iteelf  in  the  roof  of  the  block-house. 

Almost  at  the  same  instant  a  solitary  rifle  shot  rang  out 
and  the  daring  warrior  plunged  headlong,  sliding  face  down- 


Betty    Zane  261 

ward  in  the  dust  of  the  road,  while  from  the  Fort  came  that  de 
moniac  yell  now  grown  so  familiar. 

"Wetzel's  compliments,"  muttered  Jonathan.  "But  the 
mischief  is  done.  Look  at  that  damned  burning  arrow.  If  it 
doesn't  blow  out  the  Fort  will  go." 

The  arrow  was  visible,  but  it  seemed  a  mere  spark.  It  alter 
nately  paled  and  glowed.  One  moment  it  almost  went  out, 
and  the  next  it  gleamed  brightly.  To  the  men,  compelled  to 
look  on  and  powerless  to  prevent  the  burning  of  the  now  ap 
parently  doomed  block-house,  that  spark  was  like  the  eye  of 
Hell. 

"Ho,  the  Fort,"  yelled  Col.  Zane  with  all  the  power  of  his 
strong  lungs.  "Ho,  Silas,  the  roof  is  on  fire !" 

Pandemonium  had  now  broken  out  among  the  Indians. 
They  could  be  plainly  seen  in  the  red  glare  thrown  by  the 
burning  cabin.  It  had  been  a  very  dry  season,  the  rough 
shingles  were  like  tinder,  and  the  inflammable  material  burst 
quickly  into  great  flames,  lighting  up  the  valley  as  far  as  the 
edge  of  the  forest.  It  was  an  awe-inspiring  and  a  horrible 
spectacle.  Columns  of  yellow  and  black  smoke  rolled  heaven 
ward  ;  every  ob j  ect  seemed  dyed  a  deep  crimson ;  the  trees  as 
sumed  fantastic  shapes;  the  river  veiled  itself  under  a  red 
glow.  Above  the  roaring  and  crackling  of  the  flames  rose  the 
inhuman  yelling  of  the  savages.  Like  demons  of  the  inferno 
they  ran  to  and  fro,  their  naked  painted  bodies  shining  in  the 
glare.  One  group  of  savages  formed  a  circle  and  danced 
hands-around  a  stump  as  gayly  as  a  band  of  school-girls  at  a 
May  party.  They  wrestled  with  and  hugged  one  another; 
they  hopped,  skipped  and  jumped,  and  in  every  possible  way 
manifested  their  fiendish  joy. 

The  British  took  no  part  in  this  revelry.  To  their  credit 
it  must  be  said  they  kept  in  the  background  as  though  ashamed 
of  this  horrible  fire-war  on  people  of  their  own  blood. 

"Why  don't  they  fire  the  cannon?"  impatiently  said  Col. 
Zane.  "Why  don't  they  do  something?" 

"Perhaps  it  is  disabled,  or  maybe  they  are  short  of  ammu 
nition,"  suggested  Jonathan. 

"The  block-house  will  burn  down  before  our  eyes.     Look! 


262  Betty    Zane 

The  hell-hounds  have  set  fire  to  the  fence.     I  see  men  running 
and  throwing  water." 

"I  see  something  on  the  roof  of  the  block-house,"  cried 
Jonathan.  "There,  down  towards  the  east  end  of  the  roof, 
and  in  the  shadow  of  the  chimney.  And  as  I'm  a  living  sin 
ner  it's  a  man  crawling  towards  that  blazing  arrow.  The  In 
dians  have  not  discovered  him  yet.  He  is  still  in  the  shadow. 
But  they'll  see  him.  God!  What  a  nervy  thing  to  do  in 
the  face  of  all  those  redskins.  It  is  almost  certain  death." 

"Yes,  and  they  see  him,"  said  the  Colonel. 

With  shrill  yells  the  Indians  bounded  forward  and  aimed 
and  fired  their  rifles  at  the  crouching  figure  of  the  man.  Some 
hid  behind  the  logs  they  had  rolled  toward  the  Fort;  others 
boldly  faced  the  steady  fire  now  pouring  from  the  portholes. 
The  savages  saw  in  the  movement  of  that  man  an  attempt  to 
defeat  their  long-cherished  hope  of  burning  the  Fort.  Seeing 
he  was  discovered,  the  man  did  not  hesitate,  nor  did  he  lose  a 
second.  Swiftly  he  jumped  and  ran  toward  the  end  of  the 
roof  where  the  burning  arrow,  now  surrounded  by  blazing 
shingles,  was  sticking  in  the  roof.  How  he  ever  ran  along 
that  slanting  roof  and  with  a  pail  in  his  hand  was  incompre 
hensible.  In  moments  like  that  men  become  superhuman.  It 
all  happened  in  an  instant.  He  reached  the  arrow,  kicked  it 
over  the  wall,  and  then  dashed  the  bucket  of  water  on  the 
blazing  shingles.  In  that  single  instant,  wherein  his  tall  form 
was  outlined  against  the  bright  light  behind  him,  he  presented 
the  fairest  kind  of  a  mark  for  the  Indians.  Scores  of  rifles 
were  levelled  and  discharged  at  him.  The  bullets  pattered  like 
hail  on  the  roof  of  the  block-house,  but  apparently  none  found 
their  mark,  for  the  man  ran  back  and  disappeared. 

"It  was  Clarke!"  exclaimed  Col.  Zane.  "No  one  but 
Clarke  has  such  light  hair.  Wasn't  that  a  plucky  thing?" 

"It  has  saved  the  block-house  for  to-night,"  answered  Jona 
than.  "See,  the  Indians  are  falling  back.  They  can't  stand 
in  the  face  of  that  shooting.  Hurrah!  Look  at  them  fall! 
It  could  not  have  happened  better.  The  light  from  the  cabin 
will  prevent  any  more  close  attacks  for  an  hour  and  daylight 
is  near." 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

HE  sun  rose  red.  Its  ruddy  rays 
peeped  over  the  eastern  hills, 
kissed  the  tree-tops,  glinted  along 
the  stony  bluffs,  and  chased  away 
the  gloom  of  night  from  the  val 
ley.  Its  warm  gleams  penetrated 
the  portholes  of  the  Fort  and  cast 
long  bright  shadows  on  the  walls; 
but  it  brought  little  cheer  to  the 
sleepless  and  almost  exhausted  de 
fenders.  It  brought  to  many  of  the  settlers  the  familiar  old 
sailor's  maxim:  "Redness  'a  the  morning,  sailor's  warning." 
Rising  in  its  crimson  glory  the  sun  flooded  the  valley,  dyeing 
the  river,  the  leaves,  the  grass,  the  stones,  tingeing  everything 
with  that  awful  color  which  stained  the  stairs,  the  benches,  the 
floor,  even  the  portholes  of  the  block-house. 

Historians  call  this  the  time  that  tried  men's  souls.  If  it 
tried  the  men  think  what  it  must  have  been  to  those  grand, 
heroic  women.  Though  they  had  helped  the  men  load  and  fire 
nearly  forty-eight  hours ;  though  they  had  worked  without  a 
moment's  rest  and  were  now  ready  to  succumb  to  exhaustion; 
though  the  long  room  was  full  of  stifling  smoke  and  the  sick 
ening  odor  of  burned  wood  and  powder,  and  though  the  row 
of  silent,  covered  bodies  had  steadily  lengthened,  the  thought 
of  giving  up  never  occurred  to  the  women.  Death  there  would 
be  sweet  compared  to  what  it  would  be  at  the  hands  of  the 
redmen. 

At  sunrise  Silas  Zane,  bare-chested,  his  face  dark  and  fierce, 
strode  into  the  bastion  which  was  connected  with  the  block 
house.  It  was  a  small  shedlike  room,  and  with  portholes  open 
ing  to  the  river  and  the  forest.  This  bastion  had  seen  the 
severest  fighting.  Five  men  had  been  killed  here.  As  Silas 
entered  four  haggard  and  powder-begrimed  men,  who  were 
kneeling  before  the  portholes,  looked  up  at  him.  A  dead  man 
lay  in  one  corner. 

Ml 


Betty    Zane 

"Smith's  dead.  That  makes  fifteen,"  said  Silas.  "Fifteen 
out  of  forty-two,  that  leaves  twenty-seven.  We  must  hold 
out.  Men,  don't  expose  yourselves  recklessly.  How  goes  it 
at  the  south  bastion?" 

"All  right.  There's  been  firin'  over  there  all  night,"  an 
swered  one  of  the  men.  "I  guess  it's  been  kinder  warm  over 
that  way.  But  I  ain't  heard  any  shootin'  for  some  time." 

"Young  Bennet  is  over  there,  and  if  the  men  needed  any* 
thing  they  would  send  him  for  it,"  answered  Silas.  "I'll  send 
some  food  and  water.  Anything  else?" 

"Powder.  We're  nigh  out  of  powder,"  replied  the  man 
addressed.  "And  we  might  jes  as  well  make  ready  fer  a  high 
old  time.  The  red  devils  hain't  been  quiet  all  this  last  hour 
fer  nothin'." 

Silas  passed  along  the  narrow  hallway  which  Jed  from  the 
bastion  into  the  main  room  of  the  block-house.  As  he  turned 
the  corner  at  the  head  of  the  stairway  he  encountered  a  boy 
who  was  dragging  himself  up  the  steps. 

"Hello!  Who's  this?  Why,  Harry!"  exclaimed  Silas, 
grasping  the  boy  and  drawing  him  into  the  room.  Once  in 
the  light  Silas  saw  that  the  lad  was  so  weak  he  could  hardly 
stand.  He  was  covered  with  blood.  It  dripped  from  a  band 
age  wound  tightly  about  his  arm ;  it  oozed  through  a  hole  in 
his  hunting  shirt,  and  it  flowed  from  a  wound  over  his  temple. 
The  shadow  of  death  was  already  stealing  over  the  pallid  face, 
but  from  the  grey  eyes  shone  an  indomitable  spirit,  a  spirit 
which  nothing  but  death  could  quench. 

"Quick!"  the  lad  panted.  "Send  men  to  the  south  wall. 
The  redskins  are  breakin'  in  where  the  water  from  the  spring 
runs  under  the  fence." 

"Where  are  Metzar  and  the  other  men?" 

"Dead !  Killed  last  night.  I've  been  there  alone  all  night. 
I  kept  on  shootin'.  Then  I  gets  plugged  here  under  the  chin. 
Knowin'  it's  all  up  with  me  I  deserted  my  post  when  I  heard 
the  Injuns  choppin'  on  the  fence  where  it  was  on  fire  last 
night.  But  I  only — run — because — they're  gettin'  in." 

"Wetzel,  Bennet,  Clarke!"  yelled  Silas,  as  he  laid  the  boy 
on  the  bench. 


Betty    Zane  265 

Almost  as  Silas  spoke  the  tall  form  of  the  hunter  con 
fronted  him.  Clarke  and  the  other  men  were  almost  as 
prompt. 

"Wetzel,  run  to  the  south  wall.  The  Indians  are  cutting  a 
hole  through  the  fence." 

Wetzel  turned,  grabbed  his  rifle  and  an  axe  and  was  gone 
like  a  flash. 

"Sullivan,  you  handle  the  men  here.  Bessie,  do  what  you 
can  for  this  brave  lad.  Come,  Bennet,  Clarke,  we  must  follow 
Wetzel,"  commanded  Silas. 

Mrs.  Zane  hastened  to  the  side  of  the  fainting  lad.  She 
washed  away  the  blood  from  the  wound  over  his  temple.  She 
saw  that  a  bullet  had  glanced  en  the  bone  and  that  the  wound 
was  not  deep  or  dangerous.  She  unlaced  the  hunting  shirt  at 
the  neck  and  pulled  the  flaps  apart.  There  on  the  right 
breast,  on  a  line  with  the  apex  of  the  lung,  was  a  horrible 
gaping  wound.  A  murderous  British  slug  had  passed 
through  the  lad.  From  the  hole  at  every  heart-beat  poured 
the  dark,  crimson  life-tide.  Mrs.  Zane  turned  her  white  face 
away  for  a  second;  then  she  folded  a  small  piece  of  linen, 
pressed  it  tightly  over  the  wound,  and  wrapped  a  towel  round 
the  lad's  breast. 

"Don't  waste  time  on  me.  It's  all  over,"  he  whispered. 
"Will  you  call  Betty  here  a  minute  ?" 

Betty  came,  white-faced  and  horror-stricken.  For  forty 
hours  she  had  been  living  in  a  maze  of  terror.  Her  movements 
had  almost  become  mechanical.  She  had  almost  ceased  to  hear 
and  feel.  But  the  light  in  the  eyes  of  this  dying  boy  brought 
her  back  to  the  horrible  reality  of  the  present. 

"Oh,  Harry!  Harry!  Harry!"  was  all  Betty  could 
whisper. 

"I'm  goin',  Betty.  And  I  wanted — you  to  say  a  little 
prayer  for  me — and  say  good-bye  to  me,"  he  panted. 

Betty  knelt  by  the  bench  and  tried  to  pray. 

"I  hated  to  run,  Betty,  but  I  waited  and  waited  and  nobody 
came,  and  the  Injuns  was  getti-n'  in.  They'll  find  dead  Injuns 
in  piles  out  there.  I  was  shootin'  fer  you,  Betty,  and  every 
time  I  aimed  I  thought  of  you." 


266  Betty    Zane 

The  lad  rambled  on,  nis  voice  growing  weaker  and  weaker 
and  finally  ceasing.  The  hand  which  had  clasped  Betty's  so 
closely  loosened  its  hold.  His  eyes  closed.  Betty  thought  he 
was  dead,  but  no!  he  still  breathed.  Suddenly  his  eyes 
opened.  The  shadow  of  pain  was  gone.  In  its  place  shone 
a  beautiful  radiance. 

"Betty,  I've  cared  a  lot  for  you — and  I'm  dyin' — happy 
because  I've  fought  fer  you — and  somethin'  tells  me — you'll 
• — be  saved.  Good-bye."  A  smile  transformed  his  face  and 
his  gray  eyes  gazed  steadily  into  hers.  Then  his  head  fell 
back.  With  a  sigh  his  brave  spirit  fled. 

Hugh  Bennet  looked  once  at  the  pale  face  of  his  son,  then 
he  ran  down  the  stairs  after  Silas  and  Clarke.  When  the 
three  men  emerged  from  behind  Capt.  Boggs'  cabin,  which 
was  adjacent  to  the  block-house,  and  which  hid  the  south  wall 
from  their  view,  they  were  two  hundred  feet  from  Wetzel. 
They  heard  the  heavy  thump  of  a  log  being  rammed  against 
the  fence;  then  a  splitting  and  splintering  of  one  of  the  six- 
inch  oak  planks.  Another  and  another  smashing  blow 
and  the  lower  half  of  one  of  the  planks  fell  inwards,  leaving  an 
aperture  large  enough  to  admit  an  Indian.  The  men  dashed 
forward  to  the  assistance  of  Wetzel,  who  stood  by  the  hole 
with  upraised  axe.  At  the  same  moment  a  shot  rang  out. 
Bennet  stumbled  and  fell  headlong.  An  Indian  had  shot 
through  the  hole  in  the  fence.  Silas  and  Alfred  sheered  off 
toward  the  fence,  out  of  line.  When  within  twenty  yards  of 
Wetzel  they  saw  a  swarthy-faced  and  athletic  savage  squeeze 
through  the  narrow  crevice.  He  had  not  straightened  up  be 
fore  the  axe,  wielded  by  the  giant  hunter,  descended  on  his 
head,  cracking  his  skull  as  if  it  were  an  eggshell.  The  sav 
age  sank  to  the  earth  without  even  a  moan.  Another  savage, 
naked  and  powerful,  slipped  in.  He  had  to  stoop  to  get 
through.  He  raised  himself,  and  seeing  Wetzel,  he  tried  to 
dodge  the  lightning  sweep  of  the  axe.  It  missed  his  head-,  at 
which  it  had  been  aimed,  but  struck  just  over  the  shoulders, 
and  buried  itself  in  flesh  and  bone.  The  Indian  uttered  an 
agonizing  yell  which  ended  in  a  choking,  gurgling  sound  as 
the  blood  spurted  from  his  throat.  Wetzel  Dulled  the  weapon 


Betty    Zane  267 

from  the  body  of  his  victim,  and  with  the  same  motion  he 
swung  it  around.  This  time  the  blunt  end  met  the  next  In 
dian's  head  with  a  thud  like  that  made  by  the  butcher  when 
he  strikes  the  bullock  to  the  ground.  The  Indian's  rifle 
dropped,  his  tomahawk  flew  into  the  air,  while  his  body  rolled 
down  the  little  embankment  into  the  spring.  Another  and 
another  Indian  met  the  same  fate.  Then  two  Indians  en 
deavored  to  get  through  the  aperture.  The  awful  axe  swung 
by  those  steel  arms,  dispatched  both  of  them  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye.  Their  bodies  stuck  in  the  hole. 

Silas  and  Alfred  stood  riveted  to  the  spot.  Just  then  Wet- 
zel  in  all  his  horrible  glory  was  a  sight  to  freeze  the  marrow 
of  any  man.  He  had  cast  aside  his  hunting  shirt  in  that  run 
to  the  fence  and  was  now  stripped  to  the  waist.  He  was  cov 
ered  with  blood.  The  muscles  of  his  broad  back  and  his 
brawny  arms  swelled  and  rippled  under  the  brown  skin.  At 
every  swing  of  the  gory  axe  he  let  out  a  yell  the  like  of  which 
had  never  before  been  heard  by  the  white  men.  It  was  the 
hunter's  mad  yell  of  revenge.  In  his  thirst  for  vengeance  he 
had  forgotten  that  he  was  defending  the  Fort  with  its  women 
and  its  children ;  he  was  fighting  because  he  loved  to  kill. 

Silas  Zane  heard  the  increasing  clamor  outside  and  knew 
that  hundreds  of  Indians  were  being  drawn  to  the  spot. 
Something  must  be  done  at  once.  He  looked  around  and  his 
eyes  fell  on  a  pile  of  white-oak  logs  that  had  been  hauled  in 
side  the  Fort.  They  had  been  placed  there  by  Col.  Zane,  with 
wise  forethought.  Silas  grabbed  Clarke  and  pulled  him 
toward  the  pile  of  logs,  at  the  same  time  communicating  his 
plan.  Together  they  carried  a  log  to  the  fence  and  dropped 
it  in  front  of  the  hole.  Wetzel  immediately  stepped  on  it  and 
took  a  vicious  swing  at  an  Indian  who  was  trying  to  poke  his 
rifle  sideways  through  the  hole.  This  Indian  had  discharged 
his  weapon  twice.  While  Wetzel  held  the  Indians  at  bay, 
Silas  and  Clarke  piled  the  logs  one  upon  another,  until  the 
hole  was  closed.  This  effectually  fortified  and  barricaded  the 
weak  place  in  the  stockade  fence.  The  settlers  in  the  bastions 
were  now  pouring  such  a  hot  fire  into  the  ranks  of  the  savage* 
that  they  were  compelled  to  retreat  out  of  range. 


Betty    Zane 

While  Wetzel  washed  the  blood  from  his  arms  and  his  shoul« 
iers  Silas  and  Alfred  hurried  back  to  where  Bennet  had  fallen. 
They  expected  to  find  him  dead,  and  were  overjoyed  to  see  the 
big  settler  calmly  sitting  by  the  brook  binding  up  a  wound 
In  his  shoulder. 

\  "It's  nothin'  much.  Jest  a  scratch,  but  it  tumbled  me  over," 
he  said.  "I  was  comin'  to  help  you.  That  was  the  wust 
/njun  scrap  I  ever  saw.  Why  didn't  you  keep  on  lettin'  'em 
come  in?  The  red  varmints  would  'a  kept  on  comin'  and  Wet- 
eel  was  good  f er  the  whole  tribe.  All  you'd  had  to  do  was  to 
drag  the  dead  Injuns  aside  and  give  him  elbow  room." 

Wetzel  joined  them  at  this  moment,  and  they  hurried  back 
fco  the  block-house.  The  firing  had  ceased  on  the  bluff.  They 
met  Sullivan  at  the  steps  of  the  Fort.  He  was  evidently  com 
ing  in  search  of  them. 

"Zane,  the  Indians  and  the  Britishers  are  getting  ready  for 
a  more  determined  and  persistent  effort  than  any  that  has  yet 
been  made,"  said  Sullivan. 

"How  so?"  asked  Silas. 

"They  have  got  hammers  from  the  blacksmith's  shop,  and 
ihey  boarded  my  boat  and  found  a  keg  of  nails.  Now  they 
are  making  a  number  of  ladders.  If  they  make  a  rush  all  at 
once  and  place  ladders  against  the  fence  we'll  have  the  Forb 
full  of  Indians  in  ten  minutes.  They  can't  stand  in  the  face 
l)f  a  cannon  charge.  We  must  use  the  cannon." 

"Clarke,  go  into  Capt.  Boggs'  cabin  and  fetch  out  two  kegs 
of  powder,"  said  Silas. 

The  young  man  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  cabin,  while 
Silas  and  the  others  ascended  the  stairs. 

"The  firing  seems  to  be  all  on  the  south  side,"  said  Silas, 
"and  is  not  so  heavy  as  it  was." 

"Yes,  as  I  said,  the  Indians  on  the  river  front  are  busy  with 
their  new  plans,"  answered  Sullivan. 

"Why  does  not  Clarke  return?"  said  Silas,  after  waiting 
a  few  moments  at  the  door  of  the  long  room.  "We  have  no 
time  to  lose.  I  want  to  divide  one  keg  of  that  powder  among 
the  men." 

Clarke  appeared  at  the  moment.     He  was  breathing  heavily 


tfetty    Zane  269 

as  though  he  had  run  up  the  stairs,  or  was  laboring  under  a 
powerful  emotion.  His  face  was  gray. 

"I  could  not  find  any  powder !"  he  exclaimed.  "I  searched 
every  nook  and  corner  in  Capt.  Boggs'  house.  There  is  no 
powder  there." 

A  brief  silence  ensued.  Everyone  in  the  block-house  heard 
the  young  man's  voice.  No  one  moved.  They  all  seemed 
waiting  for  someone  to  speak.  Finally  Silas  Zane  burst  out: 

"Not  find  it?  You  surely  could  not  have  looked  well. 
Capt.  Boggs  himself  told  me  there  were  three  kegs  of  powder 
in  the  storeroom.  I  will  go  and  find  it  myself." 

Alfred  did  not  answer,  but  sat  down  on  a  bench9  with  an 
odd  numb  feeling  round  his  heart.  He  knew  what  was  com 
ing.  He  had  been  in  the  Captain's  house  and  had  seen  those 
kegs  of  powder.  He  knew  exactly  where  they  had  been. 
Now  they  were  not  on  the  accustomed  shelf,  nor  at  any  other 
place  in  the  storeroom.  While  he  sat  there  waiting  for  the 
awful  truth  to  dawn  on  the  garrison,  his  eyes  roved  from  one 
end  of  the  room  to  the  other.  At  last  they  found  what  they 
were  seeking.  A  young  woman  knelt  before  a  charcoal  fire 
which  she  was  blowing  with  a  bellows.  It  was  Betty.  Her 
face  was  pale  and  weary,  her  hair  dishevelled,  her  shapely 
arms  blackened  with  charcoal,  but  notwithstanding  she  looked 
calm,  resolute,  self-contained.  Lydia  was  kneeling  by  her  side 
holding  a  bullet-mould  on  a  block  of  wood.  Betty  lifted  the 
ladle  from  the  red  coals  and  poured  the  hot  metal  with  a  steady 
hand  and  an  admirable  precision.  Too  much  or  too  little 
lead  would  make  an  imperfect  ball.  The  little  missile  had  to 
be  just  so  for  those  soft-metal,  smooth-bore  rifles.  Then 
Lydia  dipped  the  mould  in  a  bucket  of  water,  removed  it  and 
knocked  it  on  the  floor.  A  small,  shiny  lead  bullet  rolled  out. 
She  rubbed  it  with  a  greasy  rag  and  then  dropped  it  in  a  jar. 
For  nearly  forty  hours,  without  sleep  or  rest,  almost  without 
food,  those  brave  girls  had  been  at  their  post. 

Silas  Zane  came  running  into  the  room.  His  face  was 
ghastly,  even  his  lips  were  white  and  drawn. 

"Sullivan,  in  God's  name,  what  can  we  do?  The  powder  is 
gone !"  he  cried  in  a  strident  voice. 


270  Betty    Zane 

"Gone?"  repeated  several  voices. 

"Gone?"  echoed  Sullivan.      "Where?" 

"God  knows.  I  found  where  the  kegs  stood  a  few  days 
ago.  There  were  marks  in  the  dust.  They  have  been  moved." 

"Perhaps  Boggs  put  them  here  somewhere,"  said  Sullivan. 
"We  will  look." 

"No  use.  No  use.  We  were  always  careful  to  keep  the 
powder  out  of  here  on  account  of  fire.  The  kegs  are  gone, 
gone." 

"Miller  stole  them,"  said  Wetzel  in  his  calm  voice. 

"What  difference  does  that  make  now?"  burst  out  Silas, 
turning  passionately  on  the  hunter,  whose  quiet  voice  in  that 
moment  seemed  so  unfeeling.  "They're  gone !" 

In  the  silence  which  ensued  after  these  words  the  men  looked 
at  each  other  with  slowly  whitening  faces.  There  was  no  need 
of  words.  Their  eyes  told  one  another  what  was  coming.  The 
fate  which  had  overtaken  so  many  border  forts  was  to  be 
theirs.  They  were  lost!  And  every  man  thought  not  of 
himself,  cared  not  for  himself,  but  for  those  innocent  children, 
those  brave  young  girls  and  heroic  women. 

A  man  can  die.  He  is  glorious  when  he  calmly  accepts 
death ;  but  when  he  fights  like  a  tiger,  when  he  stands  at  bay 
his  back  to  the  wall,  a  broken  weapon  in  his  band,  bloody,  de 
fiant,  game  to  the  end,  then  he  is  sublime.  Then  he  wrings 
respect  from  the  souls  of  even  his  bitterest  foes.  Then  he  is 
avenged  even  in  bis  death. 

But  what  can  women  do  in  times  of  war?  They  help,  they 
cheer,  they  inspire,  and  if  their  cause  is  lost  they  must  accept 
death  or  worse.  Few  women  have  the  courage  for  self- 
destruction.  "To  the  victor  belong  the  spoils,"  and  women 
have  ever  been  the  spoils  of  war. 

No  wonder  Silas  Zane  and  his  men  weakened  in  that  mo 
ment.  With  only  a  few  charges  for  their  rifles  and  none  for 
the  cannon  how  could  they  hope  to  hold  out  against  the  sav 
ages?  Alone  they  could  have  drawn  their  tomahawks  and 
have  made  a  dash  through  the  lines  of  Indians,  but  with  the 
iromen  and  the  children  that  was  impossible. 

"Wetzel,  what  can  we  do?     For  God's  sake,  advise  us  P*  said 


BettyZane  271 

Silas  hoarsely.  "We  cannot  hold  the  Fort  without  powder. 
We  cannot  leave  the  women  here.  We  had  better  tomahawk 
every  woman  in  the  block-house  than  let  her  fall  into  the  hands 
of  Girty." 

"Send  some  one  fer  powder,"  answered  Wetzel. 

"Do  you  think  it  possible,"  said  Silas  quickly,  a  ray  of  hope 
lighting  up  his  haggard  features.  "There's  plenty  of  powder 
in  Eb's  cabin.  Whom  shall  we  send?  Who  will  vol 
unteer?" 

Three  men  stepped  forward,  and  others  made  a  movement. 

"They'd  plug  a  man  full  of  lead  afore  he'd  get  ten  foot 
from  the  gate,"  said  Wetzel.  "I'd  go  myself,  but  it  wouldn't 
do  no  good.  Send  a  boy,  and  one  as  can  run  like  a  streak." 

"There  are  no  lads  big  enough  to  carry  a  keg  of  powder. 
Harry  Bennett  might  go,"  said  Silas.  "How  is  he,  Bessie?" 

"He  is  dead,"  answered  Mrs.  Zane. 

Wetzel  made  a  motion  with  his  hands  and  turned  away. 
A  short,  intense  silence  followed  this  indication  of  hopeless 
ness  from  him.  The  women  understood,  for  some  of  them  cov 
ered  their  faces,  while  others  sobbed. 

"/  will  go." 

It  was  Betty's  voice,  and  it  rang  clear  and  vibrant  through 
out  the  room.  The  miserable  women  raised  their  drooping 
heads,  thrilled  by  that  fresh  young  voice.  The  men  looked 
stupefied.  Clarke  seemed  turned  to  stone.  Wetzel  came 
quickly  toward  her. 

"Impossible !"  said  Sullivan. 

Silas  Zane  shook  his  head  as  if  the  idea  were  absurd. 

"Let  me  go,  brother,  let  me  go?"  pleaded  Betty  as  she 
placed  her  little  hands  softly,  caressingly  on  her  brother's  bare 
arm.  "I  know  it  is  only  a  forlorn  chance,  but  still  it  is  a 
chance.  Let  me  take  it.  I  would  rather  die  that  way  than 
remain  here  and  wait  for  death." 

"Silas,  it  ain't  a  bad  plan,"  broke  in  Wetzel.  "Betty  can 
run  like  a  deer.  And  bein'  a  woman  they  may  let  her  get  to 
the  cabin  without  shootin'." 

Silas  stood  with  arms  folded  across  his  broad  chest.  As  lie 
gazed  at  his  sister  great  tears  coursed  down  his  dark  cheeks 


BettyZane 

and  spiashed  on  the  hands  which  so  tenderly  clasped  his  own. 
Betty  stood  before  him  transformed ;  all  signs  of  weariness 
had  vanished ;  her  eyes  shone  with  a  fateful  resolve ;  her  white 
and  eagei  face  was  surpassingly  beautiful  with  its  light  of 
hope,  of  prayer,  of  heroism. 

"Let  me  go,  brother.  You  know  I  can  run,  and  oh !  I  will 
fly  today.  Every  moment  is  precious.  Who  knows?  Per 
haps  Capt.  Boggs  is  already  near  at  hand  with  help.  You 
cannot  spare  a  man.  Let  me  go." 

"Betty,  Heaven  bless  and  save  you,  you  shall  go,"  said 
Silas. 

"No!  No!  Do  not  let  her  go!'*  cried  Clarke,  throwing 
himself  before  them.  He  was  trembling,  his  eyes  were  wild, 
and  he  had  the  appearance  of  a  man  suddenly  gone  ~md. 

"She  shall  not  go,"  he  cried. 

"What  authority  have  you  here?"  demanded  Silas  Zane, 
sternly.  "What  right  have  you  to  speak  ?" 

"None,  unless  it  is  that  I  love  her  and  I  will  go  for  her,5* 
answered  Alfred  desperately. 

"Stand  back!"  cried  Wetzel,  placing  his  powerful  hard  on 
Clarke's  breast  and  pushing  him  backward.  "If  you  love 
her  you  don't  want  to  have  her  wait  here  for  them  red  devils," 
and  he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  river.  "If  she  gets  back 
she'll  save  the  Fort.  If  she  fails  she'll  at  least  escape  Girty  ** 

Betty  gazed  into  the  hunter's  eyes  and  then  into  Alfred's. 
She  understood  both  men.  One  was  sending  her  out  to  her 
death  because  he  knew  it  would  be  a  thousand  times  more 
merciful  than  the  fate  which  awaited  *rer  at  the  Hands  of  the 
Indians.  The  other  had  not  the  strength  to  watch  her  go  to 
her  death.  He  had  offered  himself  rather  than  see  her  take 
such  fearful  chances. 

"I  know.  If  it  were  possible  you  would  both  save  me,"  said 
Betty,  simply.  "Now  you  can  do  nothing  but  pray  that  God 
may  spare  mv  life  long  enough  to  reach  the  gate.  Sila?5, 1  anr 
ready." 

,  Downsta***  a  little  group  of  white-faced  men  were  standing 
before  the  gateway.  Silas  Zane  had  withdrawn  the  iron  bar. 
Sullivan  stood  ready  to  swing  in  the  ponderous  ga'.e.  Wetzel 


LIKE    AN    ARROW    SPRUNG    FROM    A    BOW    BETTY    FLASHED   PAST 

Page  274. 


Betty    Zane  273 

was  speaking  with  a  clearness  and  a  rapidity  which  were  won~ 
derful  under  the  circumstances. 

"When  we  let  you  out  you'll  have  a  clear  path.  Run,  but 
not  very  fast.  Save  your  speed.  Tell  the  Colonel  to  empty 
a  keg  of  powder  in  a  table  cloth.  Throw  it  over  your  shoul 
der  and  start  back.  Run  like  you  was  racin'  with  me,  and 
keep  on  comin'  if  you  do  get  hit.  Now  go!" 

The  huge  gate  creaked  and  swung  in.  Betty  ran  out, 
]ooking  straight  before  her.  She  had  covered  half  the  dis 
tance  between  the  Fort  and  the  Colonel's  house  when  long 
taunting  yells  filled  the  air. 

"Squaw !  Waugh !  Squaw !  Waugh !"  yelled  the  Indians 
m  contempt. 

Not  a  shot  did  they  fire.  The  yells  ran  all  along  the  river 
front,  showing  that  hundreds  of  Indians  had  seen  the  slight 
figure  running  up  the  gentle  slope  toward  the  cabin. 

Betty  obeyed  Wetzel's  instructions  to  the  letter.  -  She  ran 
easily  and  not  at  all  hurriedly,  and  was  as  cool  as  if  there  had 
not  been  an  Indian  within  miles. 

Col  Zane  had  seen  the  gate  open  and  Betty  come  forth. 
When  she  bounded  up  the  steps  he  flung  open  the  dcor  and 
she  ran  into  his  arms. 

"Betts,  for  God's  sake!    What's  this?"  he  cried. 

"We  are  out  of  powder.  Empty  a  keg  of  powder  into  a 
table  cloth.  Quick !  I've  not  a  second  to  lose,"  she  answered, 
at  the  same  time  slipping  off  her  outer  skirt.  She  wanted 
nothing  to  hinder  that  run  for  the  block-house. 

Jonathan  Zane  heard  Betty's  first  words  and  disappeared 
into  the  magazine-room.  He  came  out  with  a  keg  in  his  arms. 
With  one  blow  of  an  axe  he  smashed  in  the  top  of  the  keg. 
In  a  twinkling  a  long  black  stream  of  the  precious  stuff  was 
piling  up  in  a  little  hill  in  the  center  of  the  table.  Then  the 
corners  of  the  table  cloth  were  caught  up,  turned  and 
hvisted,  and  the  bag  of  powder  was  thrown  over  Betty's 
shoulder. 

"Brave  girl,  so  help  me  God.  you  are  going  to  do  it !"  cried 
Col.  Zane,  throwing  open  the  door.  "I  know  you  can.  Run 
as  you  never  ran  in  all  your  life.'* 


874  Betty    Zane 

Like  an  arrow  sprung  from  a  bow  Betty  flashed  past  the 
Colonel  and  out  on  the  green.  Scarcely  ten  of  the  long  hun 
dred  yards  had  been  covered  by  her  flying  feet  when  a  roar 
of  angry  shouts  and  yells  warned  Betty  that  the  keen-eyed 
savages  saw  the  bag  of  powder  and  now  knew  they  had  been 
deceived  by  a  girl.  The  cracking  of  rifles  began  at  a  point 
on  the  bluff  nearest  Col.  Zane's  house,  and  extended  in  a  half 
circle  to  the  eastern  end  of  the  clearing.  The  leaden  messen 
gers  of  Death  whistled  past  Betty.  They  sped  before  her  and 
behind  her,  scattering  pebbles  in  her  path,  striking  up  the 
dust,  and  ploughing  little  furrows  in  the  ground.  A  quarter 
of  the  distance  covered !  Betty  had  passed  the  top  of  the  knoll 
now  »nd  she  was  going  down  the  gentle  slope  like  the  wind. 
None  but  a  fine  marksman  could  have  hit  that  small,  flitting 
figure.  The  yelling  and  screeching  had  become  deafening. 
The  reports  of  the  rifles  blended  in  a  roar.  Yet  above  it  all 
Btetty  heard  Wetzel's  stentorian  yell.  It  lent  wings  to  her 
feet.  Half  the  distance  covered!  A  hot,  stinging  pain  shot 
through  Betty's  arm,  but  she  heeded  it  not.  The  bullets 
were  raining  about  her.  They  sang  over  her  head;  hissed 
close  to  her  ears,  and  cut  the  grass  in  front  of  her;  they  pat 
tered  like  hail  on  the  stockade-fence,  but  still  untouched,  un 
harmed,  the  slender  brown  figure  sped  toward  the  gate.  Three- 
fourths  of  the  distance  covered !  A  tug  at  the  flying  hair,  and 
a  long,  black  tress  cut  off  by  a  bullet,  floated  away  on  the 
breeze.  Betty  saw  the  big  gate  swing ;  she  saw  the  tall  figure 
of  the  hunter ;  she  saw  her  brother.  Only  a  few  more  yards  i 
On !  On !  On !  A  blinding  red  mist  obscured  her  sight.  She 
lost  the  opening  in  the  fence,  but  unheeding  she  rushed  on. 
Another  second  and  she  stumbled;  she  felt  herself 
grasped  by  eager  arms ;  she  heard  the  gate  slam  and 
the  iron  bar  shoot  into  place;  then  she  felt  and  heard 
no  more. 

Silas  Zane  bounded  up  the  stairs  with  a  doubly  precious 
burden  in  his  arms.  A  mighty  cheer  greeted  his  entrance. 
It  aroused  Alfred  Clarke,  who  had  bowed  kis  head  on  the 
bench  and  had  lost  all  sense  of  time  and  place.  What  were 
the  women  sobbing  and  crying  over?  To  whom  belonged 


Betty    Zane  275 

that  white  face?  Of  course,  it  was  the  face  of  the  girl  he 
loved.  The  face  of  the  girl  who  had  gone  to  her  death.  And 
he  writhed  in  his  agony. 

Then  something  wonderful  happened.  A  warm,  living 
flush  swept  over  that  pale  face.  The  eyelids  fluttered;  they 
opened,  and  the  dark  eyes,  radiant,  beautiful,  gazed  straight 
into  Alfred's. 

Still  Alfred  could  not  believe  his  eyes.  That  pale  face  and 
the  wonderful  eyes  belonged  to  the  ghost  of  his  sweetheart. 
They  had  come  back  to  haunt  him.  Then  he  heard  a  voice. 

"O-h !  but  that  brown  place  burns !" 

Alfred  saw  a  bare  and  shapely  arm.    Its  beauty  was  marred 
by  a  cruel  red  welt.     He  heard  that  same  sweet  voice  laugh 
and  cry  together.     Then  he  came  back  to  life  and   hope 
With  one  bound  he  sprang  to  a  porthole. 

"God,  what  a  woman!"  he  said  between  his  teeth,  as  he 
thrust  the  rifle  forward. 

It  was  indeed  not  a  time  for  inaction.  The  Indians,  realiz 
ing  they  had  been  tricked  and  had  lost  a  golden  opportunity, 
rushed  at  the  Fort  with  renewed  energy.  They  attacked  from 
all  sides  and  with  the  persistent  fury  of  savages  long  disap 
pointed  in  their  hopes.  They  were  received  with  a  scathing, 
deadly  fire.  Bang!  roared  the  cannon,  and  the  detachment  of 
savages  dropped  their  ladders  and  fled.  The  little  "bull  dog" 
was  turned  on  its  swivel  and  directed  at  another  rush  of  In 
dians.  Bang!  and  the  bullets,  chainlinks,  and  bits  of  iron 
ploughed  through  the  ranks  of  the  enemy.  The  Indians  never 
lived  who  could  stand  in  the  face  of  well-aimed  cannon-shot. 
They  fell  back.  The  settlers,  inspired,  carried  beyond  them 
selves  by  the  heroism  of  a  girl,  fought  as  they  had  never 
fought  before.  Every  shot  went  to  a  redskin's  heart.  Im 
pelled  by  the  powder  for  which  a  brave  girl  had  offered  her 
life,  guided  by  hands  and  arms  of  iron,  and  aimed  by  eyes 
as  fixed  and  stern  as  Fate,  every  bullet  shed  the  life-blood  of 
a  warrior. 

Slowly  and  sullenly  the  red  men  gave  way  before  that  fire. 
Foot  by  foot  they  retired.  Girty  was  seen  no  more.  Fire, 
the  Shawnee  chief,  lay  dead  in  the  road  almost  in  the  same 


Betty    Zane 

spot  where  two  days  before  his  brother  chief,  Red  Fox,  had  bit 
the  dust.  The  British  had  long  since  retreated. 

When  night  came  the  exhausted  and  almost  famished  be* 
siegers  sought  rest  and  food. 

The  moon  came  out  clear  and  beautiful,  as  if  ashamed  of 
her  traitor's  part  of  the  night  before,  and  brightened  up  the 
valley,  bathing  the  Fort,  the  river,  and  the  forest  in  her  silver 
light. 

Shortly  after  daybreak  the  next  morning  the  Indians,  des 
pairing  of  success,  held  a  pow-wow.  While  they  were  grouped 
in  plain  view  of  the  garrison,  and  probably  conferring  over 
the  question  of  raising  the  siege,  the  long,  peculiar  whoop  of 
an  Indian  spy,  who  had  been  sent  out  to  watch  for  the  ap 
proach  of  a  relief  party,  rang  out.  This  seemed  a  signal  for 
retreat.  Scarcely  had  the  shrill  cry  ceased  to  echo  in  the 
hills  when  the  Indians  and  the  British,  abandoning  their  dead? 
moved  rapidly  across  the  river. 

After  a  short  interval  a  mounted  force  was  seen  galloping 
up  the  creek  road.  It  proved  to  be  Capt.  Boggs,  Swearengen, 
and  Williamson  with  seventy  men.  Great  was  the  rejoicing! 
Capt.  Boggs  had  expected  to  find  only  the  ashes  of  the  Fort. 
And  the  gallant  little  garrison,  although  saddened  by  the  loss? 
<of  half  its  original  number,  rejoiced  that  it  had  repulsed  the 
united  forces  of  braves  and  British. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

EACE  and  quiet  reigned  once 
more  at  Ft.  Henry.  Before  the 
glorious  autumn  days  had  waned 
the  settlers  had  repaired  the  dam 
age  done  to  their  cabins,  and 
many  of  them  were  now  occu 
pied  with  the  fall  plowing.  Never 
had  the  Fort  experienced  such 
busy  days.  Many  new  faces 
were  seen  in  the  little  meeting 
house.  Pioneers  from  Virginia,  from  Ft.  Pitt,  and  eastward 
had  learned  that  Fort  Henry  had  repulsed  the  biggest  force 
of  Indians  and  soldiers  that  Governor  Hamilton  and  his  min 
ions  could  muster.  Settlers  from  al]  points  along  the  river 
were  flocking  to  Col.  Zane's  settlement.  New  cabins  dotted 
the  hillside;  cabins  and  barns  in  all  stages  of  construction 
could  be  seen.  The  sounds  of  hammers,  the  ringing  stroke  of 
the  axe,  and  the  crashing  down  of  mighty  pines  or  poplars 
were  heard  all  day  long. 

Col.  Zane  sat  oftener  and  longer  than  ever  before  in  his 
favorite  seat  on  his  doorstep.  On  this  evening  he  had  just 
returned  from  a  hard  day  in  the  fields,  and  sat  down  to  rest 
a  moment  before  going  to  supper.  A  few  da}rs  previous 
Isaac  Zane  and  Myeerah  had  come  to  the  settlement.  Myeerah 
brought  a  treaty  of  peace  signed  by  Tarhe  and  the  other 
Wyandot  chieftains.  The  once  implacable  Huron  was  now 
ready  to  be  friendly  with  the  white  people.  Col.  Zane  and 
his  brothers  signed  the  treaty,  and  Betty,  by  dint  of  much 
persuasion,  prevailed  on  Wetzel  to  bury  the  hatchet  with  the 
Hurons.  So  Myeerah's  love,  like  the  love  of  many  other 
women,  accomplished  more  than  years  of  war  and  blood 
shed. 

The  genial  and  happy  smile  never  left  Col.  Zane's  face, 
and  as  he  saw  the  well-laden  rafts  coming  down  the  river,  and 
the  air  of  liveliness  and  animation  about  the  growing  settle- 


878  Betty    Zane 

merit,  his  smile  broadened  into  one  of  pride  and  satisfaction. 
The  prophecy  that  he  had  made  twelve  years  before  was  ful 
filled.  His  dream  was  realized.  The  wild,  beautiful  spot 
where  he  had  once  built  a  bark  shack  and  camped  half  a  year 
without  seeing  a  white  man  was  now  the  scene  of  a  bustling 
settlement;  and  he  believed  he  would  live  to  see  that  settle 
ment  grow  into  a  prosperous  city.  He  did  not  think  of  the 
thousands  of  acres  which  would  one  day  make  him  a  wealthy 
man.  He  was  a  pioneer  at  heart ;  he  had  opened  up  that  rich 
new  country;  he  had  conquered  all  obstacles,  and  that  was 
enough  to  make  him  content. 

"Papa,  when  shall  I  be  big  enough  to  fight  bars  and 
bufflers  and  Injuns?"  asked  Noah,  stopping  in  his  play  and 
straddling  his  father's  knee. 

"My  boy,  did  you  not  have  Indians  enough  a  short  time 
ago?" 

"But,  papa,  I  did  not  get  to  see  any.  I  heard  the  shooting 
and  yelling.  Sammy  was  afraid,  but  I  wasn't.  I  wanted  to 
look  out  of  the  little  holes,  but  they  locked  us  up  in  the  dark 
room." 

"If  that  boy  ever  grows  up  to  be  like  Jonathan  or  Wetzel 
it  will  be  the  death  of  me,"  said  the  Colonel's  wife,  who  had 
heard  the  lad's  chatter. 

"Don't  worry,  Bessie.  When  Noah  grows  to  be  a  man  the 
Indians  will  be  gone." 

Col.  Zane  heard  the  galloping  of  a  horse  and  looking  up 
saw  Clarke  coming  down  the  road  on  his  black  thoroughbred. 
The  Colonel  rose  and  walked  out  to  the  hitching-block,  where 
Clarke  had  reined  in  his  fiery  steed. 

"Ah,  Alfred.     Been  out  for  a  ride?" 

"Yes,  I  have  been  giving  Roger  a  little  exercise." 

"That's  a  magnificent  animal.  I  never  get  tired  watching 
him  move.  He's  the  best  bit  of  horseflesh  on  the  river.  By 
the  way,  we  have  not  seen  much  of  you  since  the  siege.  Of 
course  you  have  been  busy.  Getting  ready  to  put  on  the 
harness,  eh?  Well,  that's  what  we  want  the  young  men  to 
do.  Come  over  and  see  us." 

"I  have  Deen  trying  to  come.     You  know  how  it  is  with 


Betty    Zane  279 

me — about  Betty,  I  mean.  Col.  Zane,  I — I  love  her.  That's 
all." 

"Yes,  I  know,  Alfred,  and  I  don't  wonder  at  your  fears. 
But  I  have  always  liked  you,  and  now  I  guess  it's  about  time 
for  me  to  put  a  spoke  in  your  wheel  of  fortune.  If  Betty 
cares  for  you — and  I  have  a  sneaking  idea  she  does — I  wiH 
give  her  to  you." 

"I  have  nothing.    I  gave  up  everything  when  I  left  home." 

"My  lad,  never  mind  about  that,"  said  the  Colonel,  laying 
his  hand  on  Clarke's  knee.  "We  don't  need  riches.  I  have 
so  often  said  that  we  need  nothing  out  here  on  the  border 
but  honest  hearts  and  strong,  willing  hands.  These  you  have. 
That  is  enough  for  me  and  for  my  people,  and  as  for  landv 
why,  I  have  enough  for  an  army  of  young  men.  I  got  my 
land  cheap.  That  whole  island  there  I  bought  from  Corn- 
planter.  You  can  have  that  island  or  any  tract  of  land  along 
the  river.  Some  day  I  shall  put  you  at  the  head  of  my  men0 
It  will  take  you  years  to  cut  that  road  through  to  Maysville0 
Oh,  I  have  plenty  of  work  for  you." 

"Col.  Zane,  I  cannot  thank  you,"  answered  Alfred,  with 
emotion.  "I  shall  try  to  merit  your  friendship  and  esteem, 
Will  you  please  tell  your  sister  I  shall  come  over  in  the  morn 
ing  and  beg  to  see  her  alone." 

"That  I  will,  Alfred.     Goodnight." 

Col.  Zane  strode  across  his  threshold  with  a  happy  smile 
on  his  face.  He  loved  to  joke  and  tease,  and  never  lost  an 
opportunity. 

"Things  seem  to  be  working  out  all  right.  Now  for  some 
fun  with  Her  Highness,"  he  said  to  himself. 

As  the  Colonel  surveyed  the  pleasant  home  scene  he  felt 
he  had  nothing  more  to  wish  for.  The  youngsters  were  play 
ing  with  a  shaggy  little  pup  which  had  already  taken  Tige's 
place  in  their  fickle  affections.  His  wife  was  crooning  a  lulla 
by  as  she  gently  rocked  the  cradle  to  and  fro.  A  wonderfuk 
mite  of  humanity  peacefully  slumbered  in  that  old  cradle. 
Annie  was  beginning  to  set  the  table  for  the  evening  meal. 
Isaac  lay  with  a  contented  smile  on  his  face,  fast  asleep  on  the 
couch*  where,  only  a  short  time  before,  he  had  been  la'd  bleed 


880  Betty    Zatie 

ing  and  almost  dead.  Betty  was  reading  to  Myeerah,  whose 
eyes  were  rapturously,  bright  as  she  leaned  her  head  against 
her  sister  and  listened  to  the  low  voice. 

"Well,  Betty,  what  do  you  think  ?"  said  Col.  Zane,  stopping 
before  the  girls. 

"What  do  I  think?"  retorted  Betty.  "Why,  I  think  you 
are  very  rude  to  interrupt  me.  I  am  reading  to  Myeerah  he* 
Srst  novel." 

"I  have  a  very  important  message  for  you." 

"Forme?    What!    From  whom?" 

"Guess." 

Betty  ran  through  a  list  of  most  of  her  acquaintances,  but 
after  each  name  her  brother  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  well,  I  don't  care,"  she  finally  said.  The  color  in  her 
cheeks  had  heightened  noticeably. 

"Very  well.  If  you  do  not  care,  I  will  say  nothing  more," 
said  Col.  Zane. 

At  this  juncture  Annie  called  them  to  supper.  Later,  when 
Col.  Zane  sat  on  the  doorstep  smoking,  Betty  came  and  sat 
beside  him  with  her  head  resting  against  his  shoulder.  The 
Colonel  smoked  on  in  silence.  Presently  the  dusky  head 
moved  restlessly. 

"Eb,  tell  me  the  message,"  whispered  Betty. 

"Message?  What  message?"  asked  Col.  Zane.  "What  arc 
you  talking  about?" 

"Do  not  tease — not  now.  Tell  me."  There  was  an  under 
current  of  wistfulness  in  Betty's  voice  which  touched  the  kind- 
hearted  brother. 

"Well,  to-day  a  certain  young  man  asked  me  if  he  could 
relieve  me  of  the  responsibility  of  looking  after  a  certain 
young  lady." 

«Oh " 

"Wait  a  moment.    I  told  him  1  would  be  delighted.'* 

"Eb,  that  was  unkind." 

"Then  he  asked  me  to  tell  her  he  was  coming  over  to 
morrow  morning  to  fix  it  up  with  her." 

"Oh7  horrible!"  cried  Betty.  "Were  those  the  words  he 
used?" 


Betty    Zane  281 

"Betts,  to  tell  the  honest  truth,  he  did  not  say  much  of 
anything.  He  just  said :  'I  love  her,'  and  his  eyes  blazed." 

Betty  uttered  a  half  articulate  cry  and  ran  to  her  room 
Her  heart  was  throbbing.  What  could  she  do?  She  felt  that 
if  she  looked  once  into  her  lover's  eyes  she  would  have  no 
strength.  How  dared  she  allow  herself  to  be  so  weak!  Yet 
she  knew  this  was  the  end.  She  could  deceive  him  no  longer. 
For  she  felt  a  stir  in  her  heart,  stronger  than  all,  beyond  all 
resistance,  an  exquisite  agony,  the  sweet,  blind,  tumultuous 

exultation  of  the  woman  who  loves  and  is  loved. 

********* 

"Bess,  what  do  you  think?"  said  Col.  Zane,  going  into  the 
kitchen  next  morning,  after  he  had  returned  from  the  pasture. 
"Clarke  just  came  over  arid  asked  for  Betty.  I  called  her. 
She  came  down  looking  as  sweet  and  cool  as  one  of  the  lilies 
out  by  the  spring.  She  said:  'Why,  Mr.  Clarke,  you  are 
almost  a  stranger.  I  am  pleased  to  see  you.  Indeed,  we  are 
all  very  glad  to  know  you  have  recovered  from  your  severe 
burns.'  She  went  on  talking  like  that  for  all  the  world  like  a 
girl  who  didn't  care  a  snap  for  him.  And  she  knows  as  well 
as  I  do.  Not  only  that,  she  has  been  actually  breaking  her 
heart  over  him  all  these  months.  How  did  she  do  it?  Oh, 
you  women  beat  me  all  hollow !" 

"Would  you  expect  Betty  to  fall  into  his  arms?"  asked 
the  Colonel's  worthy  spouse,  indignantly. 

"Not  exactly.  But  she  was  too  cool,  too  friendly.  Poor 
Alfred  looked  as  if  he  hadn't  slept.  He  was  nervous  and 
scared  to  death.  When  Betty  ran  up  stairs  I  put  a  bug 
in  Alfred's  ear.  He'll  be  all  right  now,  if  he  follows  my 
advice." 

"Humph!  What  did  Colonel  Ebenezer  Zane  tell  him?" 
asked  Bessie,  in  disgust. 

"Oh,  not  much.  I  simply  told  him  not  to  lose  his  nerve; 
that  a  woman  never  meant  'no' ;  that  she  often  says  it  only 
to  be  made  say  'yes.*  And  I  ended  up  with  telling  him  if  she 
got  a  little  skittish,  as  thoroughbreds  do  sometimes,  to  try  9 
strong  arm.  That  was  my  way." 

"Col.  Zane,  if  my  memory  does  not  fail  me,  you  were  as 


Betty    Zane 

humble  and  beseeching  as  the  proudest  girl  could   desire." 

"I  beseeching?    Never!" 

"I  hope  Alfred's  wooing  may  go  well.  I  like  him  very 
much.  But  I'm  afraid.  Betty  has  such  a  spirit  that  it  is 
quite  likely  she  will  refuse  him  for  no  other  reason  than  that 
he  built  his  cabin  before  he  asked  her." 

"Nonsense.  He  asked  her  long  ago.  Never  fear,  Bess, 
my  sister  will  come  back  as  meek  as  a  lamb." 

Meanwhile  Betty  and  Alfred  were  strolling  down  the  fa 
miliar  path  toward  the  river.  The  October  air  was  fresh  with 
a  suspicion  of  frost.  The  clear  notes  of  a  hunter's  horn  came 
floating  down  from  the  hills.  A  flock  of  wild  geese  had 
alighted  on  the  marshy  ground  at  the  end  of  the  island  where 
they  kept  up  a  continual  honk!  honk!  The  brown  hills,  the 
red  forest,  and  the  yellow  fields  were  now  at  the  height  of 
their  autumnal  beauty.  Soon  the  November  north  wind  would 
thrash  the  trees  bare,  and  bow  the  proud  heads  of  the  daisies 
and  the  goldenrod;  but  just  now  they  flashed  in  the  sun,  and 
swayed  back  and  forth  in  all  their  glory. 

"I  see  you  limp.  Are  you  not  entirely  well?"  Betty  was 
saying. 

"Oh,  I  am  getting  along  famously,  thank  you,"  said  Al 
fred.  "This  one  foot  was  quite  severely  burned  and  is  still 
tender." 

"You  have  had  your  share  of  injuries.  I  heard  my  brother 
say  you  had  been  wounded  three  times  within  a  year." 

"Four  times." 

"Jonathan  told  of  the  axe  wound;  then  the  wound  Millei 
gave  you,  and  finally  the  burns.  These  make  three,  do  they 
not?" 

"Yes,  but  you  see,  all  three  could  not  be  compared  to  the 
one  you  forgot  to  mention." 

"Let  us  hurry  past  here,"  said  Betty,  hastening  to  change 
the  subject.  "This  is  where  you  had  the  dreadful  fight  with 
Miller." 

"As  Miller  did  go  to  meet  Girty,  and  as  he  did  not  return 
to  the  Fort  with  the  renegade,  we  must  believe  he  is  deadt 
Of  course,  we  do  not  know  tliis  to  be  actually  a  fact.  But 


Betty    Zane  283 

• 

something  makes  me  think  so.     Jonathan  and  Wetzel  have 

not  said  anything;  I  can't  get  any  satisfaction  on  that  score 
from  either;  but  I  am  sure  neither  of  them  would  rest  until 
Miller  was  dead." 

"I  think  you  are  right.  But  we  may  never  know.  All  I 
can  tell  you  is  that  Wetzel  and  Jack  trailed  Miller  to  the 
river,  and  then  they  both  came  back.  I  was  the  last  to  see 
Lewis  that  night  before  he  left  on  Miller's  trail.  It  isn't 
likely  I  shall  forget  what  Lewis  said  and  how  he  looked.  Mil 
ler  was  a  wicked  man ;  yes,  a  traitor." 

"He  was  a  bad  man,  and  he  nearly  succeeded  in  every  one 
of  his  plans.  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  had  he  re 
frained  from  taking  part  in  the  shooting  match  he  would 
have  succeeded  in  abducting  you,  in  killing  me,  and  in  leading 
Girty  here  long  before  he  was  expected." 

"There  are  many  things  that  may  never  be  explained,  but 
one  thing  Miller  did  always  mystify  us.  How  did  he  succeed 
in  binding  Tige?" 

"To  my  way  of  thinking  that  was  not  so  difficult  as  climb 
ing  into  my  room  and  almost  killing  me,  or  stealing  the  powder 
from  Capt.  Boggs'  room." 

"The  last,  at  least,  gave  me  a  chance  to  help,"  said  Betty, 
with  a  touch  of  her  old  roguishness. 

"That  was  the  grandest  thing  a  woman  ever  did,*'  said 
Alfred,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Oh,  no,  I  only  ran  fast." 

"I  would  have  given  the  world  to  have  seen  you,  but  I  was 
lying  on  the  bench  wishing  I  were  dead.  I  did  not  have 
strength  to  look  out  of  a  porthole.  Oh!  that  horrible  time! 
I  can  never  forget  it.  I  lie  awake  at  night  and  hear  the  yell 
ing  and  shooting.  Then  I  dream  of  running  over  the  burning 
roofs  and  it  all  comes  back  so  vividly  I  can  almost  feel  the 
flames  and  smell  the  burnt  wood.  Then  I  wake  up  and  think 
of  that  awful  moment  when  you  were  carried  into  the  block 
house  white,  and,  as  I  thought,  dead." 

"But  I  wasn't.  And  I  think  it  best  for  us  to  forget  that 
horrible  siege.  It  is  past.  It  is  a  miracle  that  any  one  was 
spared.  Ebenezer  says  we  should  not  grieve  for  those  who 


Betty    Zane 

are  gone;  they  were  heroic;  they  saved  the  Fort.  He  saysf 
too,  that  we  shall  never  again  be  troubled  by  Indians.  There 
fore  let  us  forget  and  be  happy.  I  have  forgotten  Miller. 
You  can  afford  to  do  the  same." 

"Yes,  I  forgive  him."  Then,  after  a  long  silence,  Alfred 
continued,  "Will  you  go  down  to  the  old  sycamore  ?" 

Down  the  winding  path  they  went.  Coming  to  a  steep 
place  in  the  rocky  bank  Alfred  jumped  down  and  then  turned 
to  help  Betty.  But  she  avoided  his  gaze,  pretended  to  not 
see  his  outstretched  hands,  and  leaped  lightly  down  beside 
him.  He  looked  at  her  with  perplexity  and  anxiety  in  his 
eyes.  Before  he  could  speak  she  ran  on  ahead  of  him  and 
climbed  down  the  bank  to  the  pool.  He  followed  slowly, 
thoughtfully.  The  supreme  moment  had  come.  He  knew  it, 
and  somehow  he  did  not  feel  the  confidence  the  Colonel  had  in 
spired  in  him.  It  had  been  easy  for  him  to  think  of  subduing 
this  imperious  young  lady ;  but  when  the  time  came  to  assert 
his  will  he  found  he  could  not  remember  what  he  had  intended 
to  say,  and  his  feelings  were  divided  between  his  love  for  her 
and  the  horrible  fear  that  he  should  lose  her. 

When  he  reached  the  sycamore  tree  he  found  her  sitting  be 
hind  it  with  a  cluster  of  yellow  daisies  in  her  lap.  Alfred 
gazed  at  her,  conscious  that  all  his  hopes  of  happiness  were 
dependent  on  the  next  few  words  that  would  issue  from  her 
smiling  lips.  The  little  brown  hands,  which  were  now 
rather  nervously  arranging  the  flowers,  held  more  than  his 
life. 

"Are  they  not  sweet?"  asked  Betty,  giving  him  a  fleeting 
glance.  "We  call  them  'black-eyed  Susans.'  Could  anything 
be  lovelier  than  that  soft,  dark  brown  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Alfred,  looking  into  her  eyes. 

"But — but  you  are  not  looking  at  my  daisies  at  all,*'  said 
Betty,  lowering  her  eyes. 

"No,  I  am  not,"  said  Alfred.  Then  suddenly:  "A  year 
ago  this  very  day  we  were  here." 

"Here?  Oh,  yes,  I  believe  I  do  remember.  It  was  the  day 
we  came  in  my  canoe  and  had  such  fine  fishing.'* 

"Is  that  all  you  remember?" 


'Betty    Zane  285 


"I  can  recollect  nothing  in  particular.    It  was  so  long  ago." 

"I  suppose  you  will  say  you  had  no  idea  why  I  wanted  you 
to  come  to  this  spot  in  particular." 

"I  supposed  you  simply  wanted  to  take  a  walk,  and  it  is 
very  pleasant  here." 

"Then  Col.  Zane  did  not  tell  you?"  demanded  Alfred.  Re 
ceiving  no  reply  he  went  on. 

"Did  you  read  my  letter?" 

"What  letter?" 

"The  letter  old  Sam  should  have  given  you  last  fall.  Did 
you  read  it?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Betty,  faintly. 

"Did  your  brother  tell  you  I  wanted  to  see  you  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"Yes,  he  told  me,  and  it  made  me  very  angry,"  said  Betty, 
raising  her  head.  There  was  a  bright  red  spot  in  each  cheek. 
"You — you  seemed  to  think  you — that  I — well — I  did  not 
like  it." 

"I  think  I  understand ;  but  you  are  entirely  wrong.  I  have 
never  thought  you  cared  for  me.  My  wildest  dreams  never 
left  me  any  confidence.  Col.  Zane  and  Wetzel  both  had  some 
deluded  notion  that  you  cared " 

"But  they  had  no  right  to  say  that  or  to  think  it,"  said 
Betty,  passionately.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  scattering  the 
daisies  over  the  grass.  "For  them  to  presume  that  I  cared 
for  you  is  absurd.  I  never  gave  them  any  reason  to  think 
so,  for — for  I — I  don't." 

"Very  well,  then,  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said,"  an 
swered  Alfred,  in  a  voice  that  was  calm  and  slightly  cold.  "J 
am  sorry  if  you  have  been  annoyed.  I  have  been  mad,  of 
course,  but  I  promise  you  that  you  need  fear  no  further  an 
noyance  from  me.  Come,  I  think  we  should  return  to  the 
house." 

And  he  turned  and  walked  slowly  up  the  path.  He  had 
taken  perhaps  a  dozen  steps  when  she  called  him. 

"Mr.  Clarke,  come  back." 

Alfred  retraced  his  steps  and  stood  before  her  again.  Thee 
he  saw  a  different  Betty.  The  haughty  poise  had  disappeared, 


$86  Betty    Zane 

Her  head  was  bowed.  Her  little  hands  were  tightly  pressed 
over  a  throbbing  bosom. 

"Well,"  said  Alfred,  after  a  moment. 

"Why — why  are  you  in  such  a  hurry  to  go?" 

"I  have  learned  what  I  wanted  to  know.  And  after  that  I 
do  not  imagine  I  would  be  very  agreeable.  I  am  going  back. 
Are  you  coming?" 

"I  did  not  mean  quite — quite  what  I  said,"  whispered 
Betty. 

"Then  what  did  you  mean?"  asked  Alfred,  in  a  stern  voice. 

"I  don't  know.    Please  don't  speak  so." 

"Betty,  forgive  my  harshness.  Can  you  expect  a  man  to 
feel  as  I  do  and  remain  calm?  You  know  I  love  you.  You 
must  not  trifle  any  longer.  You  must  not  fight  any  longer." 

"But  I  can't  help  fighting." 

"Look  at  me,"  said  Alfred,  taking  her  hands.  "Let  me 
see  your  eyes.  I  believe  you  care  a  little  for  me,  or  else  you 
wouldn't  have  called  me  back.  I  love  you.  Can  you  under 
stand  that?" 

"Yes,  I  can;  and  I  think  you  should  love  me  a  great  deal 
to  make  up  for  what  you  made  me  suffer." 

"Betty,  look  at  me." 

Slowly  she  raised  her  head  and  lifted  the  downcast  eyes. 

Those  telltale  traitors  no  longer  hid  her  secret.     With  u  glad 

. 
cry  Alfred  caught  her  in  his  arms.     She  tried  to  hide  her 

face,  but  he  got  his  hand  under  her  chin  and  held  it  firmly  so 
that  the  sweet  crimson  lips  were  very  near  his  own.  Then 
he  slowly  bent  his  head. 

Betty  saw  his  intention,  closed  her  eyes  and  whispered: 
"Alfred,  please  don't — it's  not  fair — I  beg  of  you — Oh!" 
That  kiss  was  Betty's  undoing.      She  uttered  a  strange 
little  cry.    Then  her  dark  head  found  a  hiding  place  over  his 
heart,  and  her  slender  form,  which  a  moment  before  had  re 
sisted  so  fiercely,  sank  yielding  into  his  embrace. 

"Betty,  do  you  dare  tell  me  now  that  you  do  not  care  for 
me?"  Alfred  whispered  into  the  dusky  hair  which  rippled 
over  his  breast. 

Betty  was  brave  even  in  her  surrender.    Her  hands  moved 


Betty    Zane  287 

slowly  upward  along  his  arms,  slipped  over  his  shoulders,  and 
clasped  round  his  neck.  Then  she  lifted  a  flushed  and  tear- 
stained  face  with  tremulous  lips  and  wonderful  shining  eyes. 

"Alfred,  I  do  love  you — with  my  whole  heart  I  love  you. 
I  never  knew  until  now." 

The  hours  flew  apace.  The  prolonged  ringing  of  the  dinner 
bell  brought  the  lovers  back  to  earth,  and  to  the  realization 
that  the  world  held  others  than  themselves.  Slowly  they 
climbed  the  familiar  path,  but  this  time  as  never  before.  They 
walked  hand  in  hand.  From  the  bluff  they  looked  back. 
They  wanted  to  make  sure  they  were  not  dreaming.  The 
water  rushed  over  the  fall  more  musically  than  ever  before; 
the  white  patches  of  foam  floated  round  and  round  the  shady 
pool ;  the  leaves  of  the  sycamore  rustled  cheerily  in  the  breeze. 
On  a  dead  branch  a  wood-pecker  hammered  industriously. 

"Before  we  get  out  of  sight  of  that  dear  old  tree  I  want 
to  make  a  confession,"  said  Betty,  as  she  stood  before  Alfreds 
She  was  pulling  at  the  fringe  on  his  hunting-coat. 

"You  need  not  make  confessions  to  me." 

"But  this  was  dreadful ;  it  preys  on  my  conscience." 

"Very  well,  I  will  be  your  judge.  Your  punishment  shall 
be  slight." 

"On*  day  when  you  were  lying  unconscious  from  your 
wound,  Bessie  sent  me  to  watch  you.  I  nursed  you  for  hours^ 
and — and — do  not  think  badly  of  me — I — I  kissed  you." 

"My  darling,"  cried  the  enraptured  young  man. 

When  they  at  last  reached  the  house  they  found  Col.  Zane 
on  the  doorstep. 

"Where  on  earth  have  you  been?"  he  said.  "Wetzel  was 
here.  He  said  he  would  not  wait  to  see  you.  There  he  goes 
up  the  hill.  He  is  behind  that  laurel." 

They  looked  and  presently  saw  the  tall  figure  of  the  hunter 
emerge  from  the  bushes.  He  stopped  and  leaned  on  his  rifle. 
For  a  minute  he  remained  motionlecs.  Then  he  waved  his 
hand  and  plunged  into  the  thicket.  Betty  sighed  and  Alfred 
said: 

"Poor  Wetzel !  ever  restless,  ever  roaming." 

"Hello,  there!"  exclaimed  a  gay  voice.     The  lovers  turned 


288  Betty    Zane 

to  see  the  smiling  face  of  Isaac,  and  over  his  shoulder  My- 
eerah's  happy  face  beaming  on  them.  "Alfred,  you  are  a 
lucky  dog.  You  can  thank  Myeerah  and  me  for  this ;  because 
if  I  had  not  taken  to  the  river  and  nearly  drowned  myself 
to  give  you  that  opportunity  you  would  not  wear  that  happy 
face  to-day.  Blush  away,  Betts,  it  becomes  you  mightily." 

"Bessie,  here  they  are !"  cried  Col.  Zane,  in  his  hearty  voice. 
"She  is  tamed  at  last.  No  excuses,  Alfred,  in  to  dinner  you 

go." 

Col.  Zane  pushed  the  young  people  up  the  steps  before  him, 
and  stopping  on  the  threshold  while  he  knocked  the  ashes  from 
'lis  pipe,  he  smiled  contentedly « 


AFTERWORD. 

BETTY  lived  all  her  after  life  on  the  scene  of  her  f among 
exploit.  She  became  j^  happy  wife  anc[  mother..  When  she 
grew  to  be  an  old  lady,  with  her  grandchildren  about  her 
knee,  she  delighted  to  tell  them  that  when  a  gii1  =?he  had 
run  the  gauntlet  of  the  Indians. 

Col.  Zane  became  the  friend  of  all  redmen.  He  maintained 
a  trading-post  for  many  years,  and  his  dealings  were  ever 
kind  and  honorable.  After  the  country  got  settled  he  re 
ceived  from  time  to  time  various  marks  of  distinction 
from  the  State,  Colonial,  and  National  governments. 
His  most  noted  achievement  was  completed  about  1796. 
President  Washington,  desiring  to  open  a  National  road 
from  Fort  Henry  to  Maysville,  Kentucky,  paid  a  great 
tribute  to  Ccl.  Zane's  ability  by  employing  him  to  under 
take  the  arduous  task.  His  brother  Jonathan  and  the 
Indian  guide,  Tomepomehala,  rendered  valuable  aid  in  blaz 
ing  out  the  path  through  the  wilderness.  This  road,  famous 
for  many  years  as  Zane's  Trace,  opened  the  beautiful 
Ohio  valley  to  the  ambitious  pioneer.  For  this  service  Con 
gress  granted  Col.  Zane  the  privilege  of  locating  military 
warrants  upon  three  sections  of  land,  each  a  square  mile  in 
extent,  which  property  the  government  eventually  presented 
to  him.  Col.  Zane  was  the  founder  of  Wheeling,  Zanesville, 
Martin's  Ferry,  and  Bridgeport.  He  died  in  1811. 

Isaac  Zane  received  from  the  government  a  patent  of  ten 
thousand  acres  of  land  on  Mad  river.  He  established  his  home 
in  the  center  of  this  tract,  where  he  lived  with  the  Wyandots 
until  his  death.  A  white  settlement  sprang  up,  prospered,  and 
grew,  and  today  it  is  the  thriving  city  of  Zanesfield. 

Jonathan  Zane  settled  down  after  peace  was  declared  with 
the  Indians,  found  himself  a  wife,  and  eventually  became  an 
influential  citizen.  However,  he  never  lost  his  love  for  the 
wild  woods.  At  times  he  would  take  down  the  old  rifle  and 
disappear  for  two  or  three  days.  He  always  returned  cheer 
ful  and  happy  from  these  lonely  hunts. 

tft 


290  Betty    Zatft 

Wetzel  alone  did  not  take  kindly  to  the  march  of  civiliza 
tion  ;  but  then  he  was  a  hunter,  not  a  pioneer.  He  kept  his 
word  of  peace  with  his  old  enemies,  the  Hurons,  though  he 
never  abandoned  his  wandering  and  vengeful  quests  after  the 
Delawares. 

As  the  years  passed  Wetzel  grew  more  silent  and  taciturn, 
From  time  to  time  he  visited  Ft.  Henry,  and  on  these  visits 
lie  spent  hours  playing  with  Betty's  children.  But  he  was 
restless  in  the  settlement,  and  his  sojourns  grew  briefer  and 
more  infrequent  as  time  rolled  on.  True  to  his  conviction 
that  no  wife  existed  on  earth  for  him,  he  never  married.  His 
home  was  the  trackless  wilds,  where  he  was  true  to  his  calling — 
a  foe  to  the  redman. 

Wonderful  to  relate  his  long,  black  hair  never  adorned  the 
walls  of  an  Indian's  lodge,  where  a  warrior  might  point  with 
grim  pride  and  say :  "No  more  docs  the  Deathwind  blow  over 
the  hills  and  vales."  We  could  tell  of  how  his  keen  eye  once 
again  saw  Wingenund  over  the  sights  of  his  fatal  rifle,  and 
how  he  was  once  again  a  prisoner  in  the  camp  of  that  life 
long  foe,  but  that's  another  story,  which,  perhaps,  we  may 
tell  some  day. 

To-day  the  beautiful  city  of  Wheeling  rises  on  the  banks  of 
the  Ohio,  where  the  yells  of  the  Indians  once  blanched  the 
cheeks  of  the  pioneers.  The  broad,  winding  river  rolls  on  as 
of  yore ;  it  alone  remains  unchanged.  What  were  Indians  and 
pioneers,  forts  and  cities  to  it?  Eons  of  time  before  human 
beings  lived  it  flowed  slowly  toward  the  sea,  and  ages  after 
men  and  their  works  are  dust,  it  will  roll  on  placidly  with  its 
eternal  scheme  of  nature. 

Upon  the  island  still  stand  noble  beeches,  oaks,  and  chest 
nuts — trees  that  long  ago  have  covered  up  their  bullet-scars, 
but  they  could  tell,  had  they  the  power  to  speak,  many  a  wild 
thrilling  tale.  Beautiful  parks  and  stately  mansions  grace 
the  island;  and  polished  equipages  roll  over  the  ground  that 
once  knew  naught  save  the  soft  tread  of  the  deer  and  the 
moccasin. 

McColloch's  Rock  still  juts  boldly  out  over  the  river  as 
fteep  and  rugged  as  when  the  brave  Major  leaped  to  everlast- 


B  e  1 1  y    Z  a  n  c 

ing  fame.  Wetzel's  Cave,  so  named  to  this  day,  remains  on 
the  side  of  the  bluff  overlooking  the  creek.  The  grapevines 
and  wild  rose-bushes  still  cluster  round  the  cavern-entrance, 
where,  long  ago,  the  wily  savage  was  wont  to  lie  in  wait  for  the 
settler,  lured  there  by  the  false  turkey-call.  The  boys  visit 
the  cave  on  Saturday  afternoons  and  play  "Injuns." 

Not  long  since  the  writer  spent  a  quiet  afternoon  theres 
listening  to  the  musical  flow  of  the  brook,  and  dreaming  of 
those  who  had  lived  and  loved,  fought  and  died  by  that  strearr 
one  hundred  and  twenty  years  ago.  The  city  with  its  lon^ 
blocks  of  buildings,  its  spires  and  bridges,  faded  away,  leaving 
the  scene  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  Fort  Henry — unobscureo 
by  smoke,  the  river  undotted  by  puffing  boats,  and  everywhere 
the  green  and  verdant  forest. 

Nothing  was  wanting  in  that  dream  picture :  Betty  tearing 
along  on  her  pony;  the  pioneer  plowing  in  the  field;  the 
stealthy  approach  of  the  savage ;  Wetzel  and  Jonathan  watch 
ing  the  river ;  the  deer  browsing  with  the  cows  in  the  pasture, 
and  the  old  fort,  grim  and  menacing  on  the  bluff — all  were 
there  as  natural  as  in  those  times  which  tried  men's  souls. 

And  as  the  writer  awoke  to  the  realities  of  life,  that  his 
dreams  were  of  long  ago,  he  was  saddened  by  the  thought  that 
the  labor  of  the  pioneer  is  ended;  his  faithful,  heroic  wife's 
work  is  done.  That  beautiful  country,  which  their  sacrifices 
made  ours,  will  ever  be  a  monument  to  them. 

Sad,  too,  is  the  thought  that  the  poor  Indian  is  unmourned 
He  is  almost  forgotten ;  he  is  in  the  shadow ;  his  songs  are 
sung;  no  more  will  he  sing  to  his  dusky  bride:  his  deeds  are 
done;  no  more  will  he  boast  of  his  all-conquering  arm  or  of 
his  speed  like  the  Northwind ;  no  more  will  his  heart  bound  at 
the  whistle  of  the  stag,  for  he  sleeps  in  the  shade  of  the 
imder  the  moss  and  the  ferns. 


There's  More  to  Follow! 

More  stories  of  the  sort  you  like; 
more,  probably,  by  the  author  of  this 
one;  more  than  500  titles  all  told  by 
writers  of  world-wide  reputation,  in 
the  Authors'  Alphabetical  List  which 
you  will  find  on  the  reverse  side  of  the 
wrapper  of  this  book.  Look  it  over 
before  you  lay  it  aside.  There  are 
books  here  you  are  sure  to  want — some, 
possibly,  that  you  have  always  wanted. 

It  is  a  selected  list;  every  book  in  it 
has  achieved  a  certain  measure  of 
success. 

The  Grosset  Sz  Dunlap  list  is  not  only 
the  greatest  Index  of  Good  Fiction 
available,  it  represents  in  addition  a 
generally  accepted  Standard  of  Value . 
It  will  pay  you  to 

Look  on  the  Other  Side  of  the  Wrapper! 

In  case  the  wrapper  is  lost  write  to 
the  publishers  for  a  complete  catalog 


ZANE  GREY'S  NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 


THE  MAN  OF  THK  FOREST 
DESERT  OF  WHEAT  , 
U.  P.  TRAIL 


/—WILDFIRE 


BORDER  LEGION]  * 
THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 
THE  HERITAGE  OF  THK  DESERT 
RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 
THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 
THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 
THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 
GOLD 


^  BETTY  ZANE 

•**•••• 
LAST  OF  THE  GREAT  SCOUTS 

The  life  story  of  "Buffalo  Bill"  by  his  sister  Helen  Cody 
Wetmore,  with  Foreword  and  conclusion  by  Zane  Grey. 

ZANE  GREY'S  BOOKS  FOR  BOYS 

KEN  WARD  IN  THE  JUNGLE 
THE  YOUNG  LION  HUNTER 
THE  YOUNG  FORESTER 
THE  YOUNG  PITCHER 
THE  SHORT  STOP 

THE  RED-HEADED  OUTFIELD  AND  OTHER 
BASEBALL  STORIES 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


JAMES   OLIVER  CURWOOD'S 

_  STORIES  OF  ADVENTURE  _  _ 

May  b9  had  wherever  books  are  sold.       Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

THE  RIVER'S  END 

A  story  of  the  Royal  Mounted  Police. 
THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Thrilling  adventures  in  the  Far  Northland. 
/XNOMADS  OF  THE  NORTH 

The  story  of  a  bear-cub  and  a  dog. 
KAZAN 

The  tale  of  a  "quarter-strain  wolf  and  three-quarters  husky"  torn 
between  the  call  of  the  human  and  his  wild  mate. 

BAREE,  SON  OF  KAZAN 

The  story  of  the  son  of  the  blind  Grey  Wolf  and  the  gallant  part 
he  played  in  the  lives  of  a  man  and  a  woman. 

THE  COURAGE  OF  CAPTAIN  PLUM 

The  story  of  the  King  of  Beaver  Island,  a  Mormon  colony,  and  his 
battle  with  Captain  Plum. 

DANGER  TRAIL 

A  tale  of  love,  Indian  vengeance,  and  a  mystery  of  the  North. 
HUNTED  WOMAN 


A  tale  of  a  great  fight  in  the  "  valley  of  gold  "  for  a  woman. 
FLOWER  OF  THE  NORTH 


The  story  of  Fort  o'  God,  where  the  wild  flavor  of  the  wilderness 
is,blended  with  the  courtly  atmosphere  of  France. 

GRIZZLY  KING 

The  story  of  Thor,  the  big  grizzly. 
ISOBEL 

A  love  story  of  the  Far  North. 
THE  WOLF  HUNTERS 

A  thrilling  tale  cf  adventure  in  the  Canadian  wilderness. 
GOLD  HUNTERS 


The  story  of  adventure  in  the  Hudson  Bay  wilds. 
COURAGE  OF  MARGE  O'DOONE 


Filled  with  exciting  incidents  in  the  land  of  strong  men  and  women. 
TO  GOD'S  COUNTRY 


A  thrilling  story  of  the  Far  North.  The  great  Photoplay  was  made 
from  this  book. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


RUBY  M.   AYRE'S    NOVELS 

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RICHARD  CHATTERTON 

A  fascinating  story  in  which  love  and  jealousy  play 
strange  tricks  with  women's  souls. 

A  BACHELOR  HUSBAND 

Can  a  woman  love  two  men  at  the  same  time  ? 

In  its  solving  of  this  particular  variety  of  triangle  "  A 
Bachelor  Husband  "  will  particularly  interest,  and  strangely 
enough,  without  one  shock  to  the  most  conventional  minded. 

THE  SCAR 

With  rine  comprehension  and  insight  the  author  shows  a 
terrific  contrast  between  the  woman  whose  love  was  of  the 
flesh  and  one  whose  love  was  of  the  spirit. 

THE  MARRIAGE  OF  BARRY  WICKLOW 

Here  is  a  man  and  woman  who,  marrying  for  love,  yet  try 
to  build  their  wedded  life  upon  a  gospel  of  hate  for  each 
other  and  yet  win  back  to  a  greater  love  for  each  other  in 
the  end. 

THE  UPHILL  ROAD 

The  heroine  of  this  story  was  a  consort  of  thieves.  The 
man  was  fine,  clean,  fresh  from  the  West.  It  is  a  story  of 
strength  and  passion. 

WINDS  OF  THE  WORLD 

Jill,  a  poor  little  typist,  marries  the  great  Henry  Sturgess 
and  inherits  millions,  but  not  happiness.  Then  at  last — but 
we  must  leave  that  to  Ruby  M.  Ayres  to  tell  you  as  only 
she  can. 

THE  SECOND  HONEYMOON 

In  this  story  the  author  has  produced  a  book  which  no 
one  who  has  loved  or  hopes  to  love  can  afford  to  miss. 
The  story  fairly  leaps  from  climax  to  climax. 

THE  PHANTOM  LOVER 

Have  you  not  often  heard  of  someone  being  in  love  with 
love  rather  than  the  person  they  believed  the  object  of  their 
affections  ?  That  was  Esther  !  But  she  passes  through  the 
crisis  into  a  deep  and  profound  love.' 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


EDGAR  RICE  BURROUGH'S 
NOVELS 

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TARZAN  THE  UNTAMED 

Tells  of  Tarzan'  s  return  to  the  life  of  the  ape-man  in 
his  search  for  vengeance  on  those  who  took  from  him  his 
wife  and  home. 

JUNGLE  TALES  OF  TARZAN 

Records  the  many  wonderful  exploits  by  which  Tarzan 
proves  his  right  to  ape  kingship. 

A  PRINCESS  OF  MARS 

Forty-three  million  miles  from  the  earth — a  succession 
of  the  weirdest  and  most  astounding  adventures  in  fiction. 
John  Carter,  American,  finds  himself  on  the  planet  Mars, 
battling  for  a  beautiful  woman,  with  the  Green  Men  of 
Mars,  terrible  creatures  fifteen  feet  high,  mounted  on 
horses  like  dragons. 

THE  GODS  OF  MARS 

Continuing  John  Carter*  s  adventures  on  the  Planet  Mars, 
m  which  he  does  battle  against  the  ferocious  "plant  men," 
creatures  whose  mighty  tails  swished  their  victims  to  instant 
death,  and  defies  Issus,  the  terrible  Goddess  of  Death, 
whom  all  Mars  worships  and  reveres. 

THE  WARLORD  OF  MARS 

Old  acquaintances,  made  in  the  two  other  stories,  reap 
pear,  Tars  Tarkas,  Tardos  Mors  and  others.  There  is  a 
happy  ending  to  the  story  in  the  union  of  the  Warlord, 
the  title  conferred  upon  John  Carter,  with  Dejah  Thoris. 

THUVIA,  MAID  OF  MARS 

The  fourth  volume  of  the  series.  The  story  centers 
around  the  adventures  of  Carthoris,  the  son  of  John  Car 
ter  and  Thuvia,  daughter  of  a  Martian  Emperor. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP.  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


ATNRLF 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 

JUN    91071 


OCT    9 '81 

RECf 


-  oo 


50nt-6,'67(H2523s8)2373 


3  2106  00211   2123 


m 


